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930 ■ f. 



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FAIRY LEGENDS 
TRADITIONS 

SOUTH OF IRELAND. 



LONDON. 
JOHN MUBBAY. 

HBCCCXXVITI. 



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LONDON: 

PBINTED BY IHOUAS DAVISOH, WniTEPRI 



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SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 

THIS VOLUME 



IN ADHIRATION OP HIB aEMIUB, 



I GRATITUDE FOB £18 KINDNESS, 



X CROFTON CROKER. 



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W. H.Brooke, F.S. A. 



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PEEFACE. 



In redeeming ft promiie made in the pre- 
face to the seccxid edition of the Fairy Legends 
and Trftditaona of the South ol Ireland, and 
plai^ng before the public a Koond part of the 
same work, I trust that the indulgence which 
the farmer volume haa experienced will be ex- 
tended to the preaent collection. 

The literary intercourse of European na- 
ticms is now lo great, and translation ao com- 
man, that a writer has in geneni but little 
reason to plume himself on hit work having 
appeared in a French or German dress. Bui 
the dianicter of the translator may confer 
value on that otberwiie indifiWent circum- 
stance ; and I cannot but feel and express a 
eoDsidsrable d^ree of satiafocti<m at observing 
my fermer vdumc transited into Oerman b^ 



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^K^^Aniqeat Molars as Ih^bMih^ CiHniiii', 

i^btK also procured me. TlMir version, wHicn 
Iihad not seen yrhea the second edition ap^ 
p^red, is, «& might be expected, faithM attiS 
atHidted ; and to it they have prefixed a litost 
learned and valuable introduction respecting 
Fairy superstition in general. 

" Whoever," says Dr. Grimm, in the pre- 
face to the German translation, "has a relish 
tor innocent and simple poetry, will feel at.- 
tracted by these tales. ' They possess a pecu> 
liar flavour which is not irithout its diarm^- 
and they come to us from a country of wbidi 
we are in general reminded in but few, aod 
those not very pleasant relations. It is, vaase' 
over, inhabited by a people whose antiquity 
and early civilization is attested by histwy^ 
Kod who, as they in part still speak their own 
language, must retain living traces of their 
ibnner times, to show which the belief in 
supernatural beings here exhibited yields, per-- 
haps, one of the best examples." 

The following extracts from the pul^ 
jxints are evidences of the popular supersti' 
tion of Ireland, and are in themselves too re* 



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^,^lj^tpate the aalyect. Decf^ as I lamebC 
^t such, deluooa should exist, these feitf 
T^Ul WiffiqienriiX prove that I haro not (a* hai 
^i^.JQsinuatftd) conjured up forgotCeo toles^ 
91;, attempted to perpetuate a creed which hftd 
disi^peared. Oq the contrary, my alnt baS 
been to bring the twilight tales of the pea* 
santry before the view of the philosopher; as, 
if suffered to remain unnoticed, the latent be- 
lief in them, may long have lingered among the 
iobffhitaiits.. of the wild mountain and kme- 
some glen, to retard the progresE of th«v 
dvilization. 

" Tealeb AMizEi, July, 18Se.— CWW Jfimfcr.— . 
Aftit Heche, an old woman of very advanced age, was in- 
^ebaifat ^emntder of Micbael Leahy, a young ehild, 
hj fli9WQ)ng him in the Fleak, This case, which at 
fint.asantaod » very aerioua aipect, from the meaniti^ 
unpnted to worda apoken by the priioner, ' that ^ 
mn of the child's death waa on the grandmother, and 
not oa the prisoner,' turned out to be a homicide com^ 
mhted -ander the delusion of the groBBesl superstition. 
The child, though ftrar yesrs old, could neither stand, 
iltiSk, m speak— ii tiiat thoaghl to be fairy~itrmk~- 
and.the.gran^Dothei ordcrad the prisoner and one of 



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■ ■ring ia. dm. pad. Ad tlw liv^ Fleik w^tn titt 
bBBduin tf thrw fwrna met; tbey bad.M iMttiu^ 
It te &Tfee ttianiliiga ruunuigi and w tbe Uu monpig 
ifae pilwMt kept the child loDgar tintltr the water 
dHBi aniil, -when bei.compuiioii <tbe irltneti, Mary 
OUflbrd) atld ta tbi priMuc.'How ean yon hopt 
crerto«ecGiidafleitku?' to whl(^ the poamm rp. 
plied, ' that the ain wai oe the gnutdnuther and not 
OD her.' Upon cross-esftminatioii, the witneaa aaid it 
fru not done with Inteot to kSl the chEd, but to cute 
it — 16 put Ihejairy oul of il. 

" The policeman who apprehendeii ber Mated, dnt 
on dialing her with drcwmng Hit «lffid, ih«- wHAM 
Ma DO matter if it had died fear jean , ago. 

" Baron Pemiefathei said, that though it wasa caw 
of nupicioD, and required to be thoroughly examined 
intoy yet the jury wosld not be lafe in covTicting the 
priaouer of murder, however atrong their snipidona 
might be. Verdict— Not g«aty."— JtforxJi^ Ptit, 

" An inqucit was hdd oB Saturday kal, oif the 
body of a man of the naiae of CoBMr, kaduMhoMMCT 
in iha B«i«hbeiuhoiid of Caatk NvnorrComty af Wfk 
This »nfn rtnn«te mm had f iprfwed Ina detorroinatiuk 
to read hia.i*cawtatlon on the Mlowing Sunday, nob- 
withatanding all the efftots of hia friends to disnade 
hiB ; they svccecded in entidng him sto a kasae, 
when he was found snspended ftom the flctUn^ A 
Tercet of WObl Hutda a 
t 



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ifu t^uait st'tM in^ntet,' ttkdl « 
•j^inM tdmfhn !falker.HiA.two«fhift4DiiAuon<flWr^ 
^titm oflucfbigpa-petnrtedaedwd: TliMii p'li—l 
«tidcsT0Ured M drcnliU a repert thM he bid teat 
imngei by the fiartet. It appeuKl an ihe inqnttt 
thiLt'thote pemma, who wwe the Am to girv Aamlmi, 
ludpMMd by Minti hotuei in the InBiediide Tidnitjr 
oTibe bodae -nhtlte die body «u found haoguig,"-n 
2MMl Enening afaU, latA ^pril, ISST. 

- It would be in the power of every one oon- 
vosaiit with tbe mannerB of the'countiy to- 
pfoduce inntaoces of the imdoubting belief 
in these BupeTBdtioDs, if not so formal and 
revolting as the foregnng, yet fully «• con- 
vincing. 

Notwithstanding the coUectitHi of Irish 
fury If^ndsf which I have formed in this 
and the former Tolume,.the subject is far from 
bong exhausted. But here, at least as relates 
to Ireland, I have determined to fiiush my 
task. A third or supplementary v<dume will, 
however, appear under the same title ; and 
although forming a separate work on the 
fairy super^tions of Wales and other coun- 
tries, it Bisy be cooddered as illustrative of 
those current in Ireland. 

FART II. b 



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Ib ctncluuoD, I hare to offer my very best 
st^oowledgmente for the many commuaicar 
tions with which I have been favoured. To 
Mr. Lynch, in particular, my thanks tu-e due 
for a manuscript collection of legends, &om 
■whifii those of " Diarmid BawD,.the Piper," 
and " Rent Say" have been selected. The 
material assistance, however, derived from va- 
rious sources will be evident, and these sources 
are so numerous as ahnoat'to preclude indi- 
vidual mention. 



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CONTENTS. 



THE MEBROW- 



-The Lady of GoUeras 
Ploiy Contnion's Funeral 
The Soul Cages 
The liOTd of Dunkerron . 
The Wonderfal Tune 



THE DULLAHAN. 




The Good Womim .... 


85 


Hanlon'i Mill 


103 


Tfae Harvest Dinner 


112 


The Death Coneli .... 


133 


The Headlesa Horseman . 


138 


THE PnUDABEIG. 




Diarmid Bawn, the Piper 


156 


Tei^e of the Lee .... 


IM 


Ned Shoehj's Eieuse . . 


IW 


The Lncky Guest .... 


3ta 



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COHtEHTS. 
TREASURE LEGENDS. 



Dreaming Tfan Jarvis 
Rent Day 
Scath-a-Legaune 
Linn-na-PayalitfaB ■ 



221 
236 
244 



ROCKS AND STONES. 
Legend of Cairn Thiema 
The Rock of the Candle . 
Clough-na-Cuddy . 
Barry of Cairn Thiema . 
The Gianf s Stairs . 



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FAIRY LEGENDS. 

THE MEEEOW. 



" The myttctioat depihii 

And wild and wond'rousfomiB otocaa old." 

The Cohcholosist. 



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LEGENDS OF THE MERKOW. 



THE LADY OF GOLLERUS. 

Ok tlie ahore of Smerwick harbour, one fine 
aummer'H morning, just at dsj^-brealc, stood Dick 
Fitzgerald " sbogbing the dudeen," which ma^r be 
translated, smoking his pipe. The sun was gr^ 
dually rising behind the lo&y Biandon, the dark 
sea was getting green in the light, and the mists 
clearing away out of the vaUeys went rolling 
and curling like the smoke from the comer of 
Dick's mouth. 

" 'Tis just the pattern of a pretty moming," 
said Dick, taking the pipe irom between his lips, 
and looking towards the distant ocean, which lay 
as still and tranquil as a tomb of pidished marble. 
" Well, to be sure," continued he, after a pause, 
" 'tis mighty lonesome to be talking to one's self 
1^ way of company, and not to have another soul 



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i THE LADY OF GOLLERUS. 

to answer one — noihing but the cliild of one's 
own voice, the echo ! I know this, that if I had 
the luck, or may be the misfortune," said Dich, 
with a melancholy smile, " to have the woman, it 
would not be this way with me ! — and what in 
the wide world in a man without a wife ? He 's 
no more surely than a bottle without a drop of 
drinl in it, or dancing without music, or the left 
leg of a scissarg, or a fishing-line without a hook, 
or any other matter that is no ways complete. — 
Is it not so?" said Dick Fitzgerald, casting his 
eyes towards a rock upon the strand, which, 
thou^ it could not spef^, stood up as firm and 
looked SB bold as ever Kerry witness did. 

But what was his astonishment at beholding, 
just at the foot of that rock, a beautiful young crea- 
ture combing her hair, which was of a sea-green 
colour; and now the salt water shining on it, 
appeared, in the morning li^t, like melted butter - 
upon cabbage. 

Dick guessed at once that she was a Merrow, 
although he had never seen tme before, for he 
spied the co/tttleen driuth, or little enchanted 
cap, which the sea people use for diving down 
into the ocean, lying upon the strand, near her ; 
and he bad heard, that if once be could possess 
himself of the cap, she would lose the power of 
gmng away into the water : so he adzed it with 



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THE LADT OF OOLLEBBB. 6 

aU speed, and she, hearing the noise, turned her 
head about as natural as aaj Christian. 

When the Meiiow saw that her little diving- 
cap was gone, the salt team — doubly salt, no 
doubt, from her — came trickling down her cheeh^ 
and she b^an a low moumiVil cry with just the 
tender voice of a new-born infant. Dick, al- 
though he knew wdl enough what she whs cry- 
ing for, detenniaed to keep the cokuleeit driuth, 
let her cry never so much, to see what luck 
would cmne out of it. Yet he could not help 
pitying her; and when the dumb thing looked 
up in his &ce, and her cheeks all moiit with 
tears, 'twas enou^ to make any one feel, let 
alone Dick, who had ever and always, like must 
i£ his countrymen, a mighty tender heart of his 

" Don't cry, my darling," said Dick Fitz- 
gerald; but the Merrow, like any bold child, 
only cried the more for that, 

Dick sat himself down by her side, and took 
hold of her hand, by way of comforting her. 
'Twas in no particular an ugly hand, only there 
was a small web between the fingers, as theie ii 
in a duck's foot ; but 'twas as thin and as white 
as the skin between e^ and ihelL 

" What's your name, my darling P" saysDidt, 
tliinHwg to make hex conTenant with him; but 



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6 tat LADT OF OOLLERUS. 

he got no answer; aad he was certain sure now*; 
either that she could not speak, or did not under- 
Btand him: he therefore squeezed her hand in 
his, as the onl; waj he had of talking to her. 
It's the universal language; and there's not a 
woman in the world, be she fish ot lady, that does 
not understand it. 

The Merrow did not seem much displeased at 
this mode of conversaticm ; and, malung an end 
of her whining all at once — " Man," says she, 
looking up in Dick Fitzgerald's face, " Man, 
will you eat me t" 

" By all the red petticoats and check aprons 
between Dingle and Tralee," cried Dick, jumping 
up in amazement, " I 'd as soon eat myself, my 
jewel! Is it I eat you, my pet f — Now, 'twas some 
ugly ill-looking thief of a fish put that notion 
into your own pretty head, with the nice green 
hair down upon it, that is so cleanly combed out 
this morning I" 

" Man," said the Merrow, " what will you do 
with me, if you won't eat me.?" 

Dick's thoughts were running on a wife: he 
■aw, at the first glimpse, that she was handsome; 
but since she spoke, and spoke too like any real 
woman, he was fairly in love with her. 'Twas 
the neat way she called ^'W man, that settled 
the matter entirely. 



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THE LADY OP QOLLERUB. T 

" Fish," nys Diclc, trying to speak to her after 
her own short fashion ; " fish," says he, " here 's 
my w<wd, fresh and fasting, for you this blessed 
momiiig, that 1 11 moke you mistress Fitzgerald 
befiice all the world, and that 's what I '11 do." 

" Never say the word twice," says she ; " I 'm 
ready and willing to be yours, mister Fitzgerald ; 
but stop, if yon please, 'till I twist up my hair." 

It was some time before she had settled it en- 
tirely to her liking; for she guessed, I suppose, 
that she was going among strangers, where she 
would be looked at> When that was done, the 
Mexrow put the comb in her pocket, and then 
bent down her head and whispered some words 
tu the water that was dose to the foot of the 
rock. 

Dick saw the murmur of the words upon the 
top of the sea, going out towards the wide ocean, 
just like a breath of wind rippling along, and, 
says he, in the greatest wonder, " Is it speaking 
you are, my darling, to the salt water?" 

" It's nothing eUe," says she, quite carelessly, 
" I 'm just sending word home to my &ther, not 
to be waiting t»%akfast for me ; just to keep him 
from being uneasy in his mind." 

"And who's your father, my duck?" sajra 
Dick. 



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8 THE LADY OF GOIXEHTJS. 

" What !" said the Merrow, " did you never 
heat of mj father? he'i the lung of the wares, 
to he sure !"" 

" And yotinelf) then, u a real iLing's dau^ter i" 
said Dick, iqwning his two eyes to take a fuU and 
true Surrey of his wife that vras to be. 

" Oh, I 'm nothing eUe but a made maa with 
you, and a king your father; — to be sure Be has 
all die numey that 's 4ovii. in the bottom of the 
see !" 

" Money," repeated the Merrow, " what's 
money?" 

" T^'a no bad thing to have when one wants 
it," replied Dick ; " and may be now the fishes 
have the understanding to bring up whatever 
you bid them ?" 

" Oh ! yes," said, the Merrow, " they bring me 
what I want." 

" To speak the truth then," said Dick, " 'tis 
B sUraw bed I hare at home he&xce you, and that, 
I'm thinking, is no ways fitting for a king's 
d8U{^ter; so if 'twould not be displeasing to 
you, just to mention, a nioe feather bed, with a 
jnir of new blankets — but what am I talking 
about ? may be you hare not such things as beds 
down under the water ?" 

" By all means," said she, " Mr. FitigmW — 



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THE LADT Or OOIXEBUS. 9 

plenty of beds U your service. I 've fourteen 
oyster beds of my own, not to mentioD one jiiit 
planting for the rearing (d young ones-" 

" You have," says Dick, icratchlng his head 
and looking a tittle puziled. " 'Tis a feather 
bed I waa BpeaUng of—but dearly, yours it the 
very cut of a decent plan, to have bed and supper 
u handy to each other, that a person when they 'd 
have the one, need never ask for the other." 

. However, bed or no bed, money or no money, 
Dick Fitagerald determined to marry the Mer- 
row, and the Merrow had given her consent. 
Away they went, therefore, acroas the Strand, 
itom GoUerus to Ballinrunnig, where Father 
Pitrgibbon happened to lie that morning. 

" There are two words to this bargain, Dick 
FitEgerald," said his Reverence, looking mighty 
^um. "And is it a fi^y woman you'd many?— 
the Lord preserve us ! — Send the scaly creature ' 
hidne to her own pec^de, that 'a my advice to you, 
wherever she came from." 

Dick had the ctAuleen driuth in his hand, tad 
was about to give it hack to the Merrow, who 
looked covetously at it, but he thought for a mo* 
ment, and then, says he-— 

" Please your Reverence, she 's a king's daugh- 
ter." 
"Ifihe was the daughter <rf fifty kings," said 



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10 THE LADT of OOLLERUS. 

Father Fitsgibbon, " I tell 70U, you can't marry 
Iter, she being a fish." 

" Please your Reverence," said Dick again, in 
an under tone, " she is as mild and as beautiful as 
the moon." 

" If she was as mild and as beautiful as the 
■un, moon, and stars, all put together, I tell you, 
JDick Fitzgerald," said the Priest, stamping his 
right foot, " you can't marry her, she being a 
fish!'" 

" But she has all the gcdd that 's down in the 
sea only for the asking, and I 'm a made man if I 
marry her; and," said Dick, looking up slily, " I 
can make it worth any one's while to do the 
job." 

" Oh ! that alters the case entirely," replied 
the Priest; "why there's some reason now in 
what you say : why didn't you tell me this before f 
— marry her by all means if she was ten' times a 
fish. Money, you know, is not to be refused in 
these bad times, and I may as well have the 
hausel of it as another, that may be would not 
take half the pains in counselling you that I have 
Aoae." 

So Father Fitzgibbon married Dick Fitzgerald 
to the MerroWj and like any loving couple, they 
returned to GoUerua well pleased with each other. 
Every thing prospered with Dick — he was at the 



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THE LADV OF GOLLERUS. IV 

snnny side of the world ; the Merrow made the 
best of wives, and they lived U^ther in the 
greatest contentment. 

It was wonderful to see, considering where she 
had been brought up, how she would busj henelf 
about the house, and how well she nursed the 
children ; for, at the end of three years, there 
were as many young Fitjageralds — two boys and 
a girl. 

In short, Dick was a happy man, and so he 
might have continued to the end of his days, if he 
had only the sense to take proper care of what 
he had got ; many another man, however, beside 
Dick, has not had wit enough to do that. 

One day when Dick was obliged to go tO 
Tralee, he left the wife, minding the children at 
home after Mm, and thinking she had plenty to 
do without disturbing his fishing tackle. 

Dick was no sooner gone than Mrs. Fitagerald 
set about cleaning up the house, and chancing to 
pull down a fishing net, what should she find he< 
hind it in a hole in the wall, hut her own cokalem 
driuih. 

She took it out and looked at it, and then she 
thought of her father the king, and her mother 
the queen, and her brothers and sisters, and she 
felt a longing to go back to them. 

She sat down on a little st^cd and thought over 



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12 THE LADY OS Q0LLERU8. 

the happy days she had tpent under the sea ; then 
Ae looked at her children, and thought on the 
love and aSectioa of poor Dick, and how it would 
break his heart to lose her. " But," says she, 
" he won't lose me entirely, for 1 11 come back to 
him again, and who can hUme me for going to 
see my father and my mother after being so long 
away from them I" 

She got up and went towards the door, but 
came back again to look once more at the child 
thfit WEU sleeping in the cradle. She kissed it 
gendy, and as ahe kissed it, a tear trembled for 
an instant in her eye and then fell on its rosy 
chedc She wiped away the tear, and turning to 
the eldest little girl, told her to take good care of 
ber brothers, and to be a good child herself, until 
■he came back. The Merrow then went down to 
the strand. — The sea was lying calm and smooth, 
just heaving and glittering in the sun, and she 
diought she heard a faint sweet singing. Inviting 
her to come down. All her old ideas and feelings 
came flooding over ber mind, Dick and her children 
were at the instant foif^otten, and placing the 
oohuleen drintk on ber head, she plunged in. 

Dick ram A home in the evening, and T^iMitig 
his wife, he asked Kathelin, bis little girl, what 
had become of her mother, but she could not tell 
him. He then inquirad of the nei^boun, wid 



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THE LADY OF QOU,EBU(». IS 

be leamied that she wu seen going bjwtadt the 
strand with a atrange looking thing like a cocked 
hat in her hand. He returned to his cabin to 
search for the cokuleen driulli. It was gone, and 
tlie truth now flashed upon him. 

Year after year did Dick Fitzgerald wait ex- 
pecting the return of his wife, hut he never saw 
her more. Dick never married again, always 
thinking that the Merrow would sooner or later 
return to him, and nothing could ever persuade 
him hut that her father the king kept her helow 
liy main force ; " For," said Dick, " she surely 
would not of herself give up her husband and her 
children." 

While she was with him, she was so good a 
wife in every reelect, that to this day she is 
spoken of in the tradition of the country as the 
pattern for one, under the name of the Las? op 

GoLLEBUB. 



The people of Feroe ay, thst the seal every ninth 
night puts off its skin and gets a bamui form, and 
then dances and sports like the " human mortalg," 
till it resumes its skin and becomes a seal again. It 
once happened tbxt a man came b; while this took 
place, and seeing the ikin, he seized it and hid it. 



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14 THE UDy OP SOLLERITS. 

Wben the «eal, which was in the shape of a woman, 
eonid not find iu skin to creep into, it wu forced to 
renuun in the hnniBn form, and, as she was fair to 
look npoD, the same man took her to wife, had children 
hy her, and lived right happy vrith her. After a long 
time, the wife found the skin that had been itolen 
and could not resist the temptation to creep into it, 
and ao she became a aeal again. 

Danike Follcetagn, voL 3. p. 51. 
Mr. Hibbert, in his Description of the Shetland 
Islands, relalcfi the same storj in such a pleasing 
manner, that it is impossible to refrain from quoting 
his nordg. " Sometimes," be informs ns, " Mermen 
and Meiwomen have formed connubial attachments 
with the human race. A story la told of an inhabitant 
of Unst, who, in walking on the wndj margin of a 
voe, law a number of these beings dancing by moon- 
light, and aeveral seal-Ekina strewed beside them ou 
the ground. At his approach, they immediately fled 
to secure their garbs, and talcing upon themselves the 
form of seals, plunged immediately into the sea. But 
as the Shetlander perceived that one skin lay close to 
hia feet, be snatched it up, bore it awiftly away, and 
placed it in concealment. On returning to the shore, 
he met the fairest damsel that was ever gazed upon 
by mortal eyes lamenting the robbery by which she 
should become an exile ftom her submarine friends 
and a tenant of the upper world. Vainly she implored 
the restitution of her property : the man had drunk 
deejily of lore, and was inexorable, but offered her 



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THE LADY OF OOLLEBOS. 15 

protectioB braeath hia roof as his betrothed BpouM. 
The Merlady peTceiTing that the miut become Bit 
inh&biuiit of the ewth, found that she could not do 
better than accept of the ofito. This Btnuige cotma' 
1n«l AttadimeDt subsisted tor masjr years, and sereral 
children were the Jhiits of it, who retained no fartbei 
marks of their origin, than in the resemUance which 
a sort of web between their fingers bora to the for^ 
feet of a seal— this peculiarity being postened I7 the 
descendants of the family to the present day. The 
Shetlander's lave for his Merwife was nnbonnded, bat 
fais afibction was coldly returned. The lady would 
often steal alone to the desert strand, and, on a signal 
being given, a large seal would make his appearance, 
with whom she would hold, in an unknown tongue, 
an anxious conference. Years had tbua glided away, 
when it happened that one of the children, in the 
course of his play, found concealed beneath a stack of 
com a seal's ekin, and, delighted with the prize, ran 
with it to his mother. Her eyes glistened with rap- 
ture — she gazed'Upon it as her own — as the means by 
which she could pass through the ocean that led to 
her native home. Bhe burst forth into an ecstasy of 
joy, which was only moderated when she beheld her 
chUdren whom she was now about to leave, and after 
hastilj embracing them, fled with all speed towards 
the wa side. The husband immediately returned— 
learned the discovery that had taken place— ran to 
overtake his wife, but only arrived in time to see her 
transfoimation of shape completed— to see her in the 



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16 THE LU)y OF OOLLEKDS. 

form of K «d, bouud fmn the leilga af k lockiiita 
the aa. The Urge aninul of the tame kind with 
whom she had held a secret conveTae soon spewed, 
■nd evidently coi^ratulated her in the mmt tender 
manner on ber e«c»pe. But before the dived to un- 
known depth, she casta parting glance at the wretched 
Shetlander, whoM despairing looks exdtad in Iier 
breast a few tranuNit feeliiigt of commisavtion. 
' Farewell/ said she to him : ' I loved jou vsy well 
when I resided upon earth, but I always loved my 
flrst husband ranch better.' "—Page 669. 

Mr. Thiele tells us, in a note on die DiBukt 
Folkeiagn, that there are still families who believe 
themselves to be descended from rach marriages. A 
Nmilsr belief exisla in Kerry respectii^ the O'Fla- 
herty and the O'Bullivan families; and the Macna- 
maras, a Clare family, have their name ftom a tradition 
of llie Game nature. MoTgan, according to Ussher, 
^niBed in the ancient British " Bom of the Sea." 
It was the real name of the celebrated Pek^ns ; and 
is at present a very common one in Wales. 

Vadc, the father of the famous smith Velent, was 
the BOD of king Vilkinus and ■ Mermaid whom he met 
in a wood on the sea shore in Russia. 

nikina Saga, c. 18. 

The stories of Feleus and Thetis in classical, and of 
king Beder and the fair Gulnare in oriental literature, 
may be referred to, as weU as the ballad of RosTtter 
Havmand translated by Mr. Jamieson from tbe 
Kcempe Viseri and many others 



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THE LAD* OF OOLUIROS. It 

. " P«racel«»,'* ■>;■ old Banon, " hub ktokI Mo- 
des of Ihetn" (VVuKr devils), " how they have liwd, 
and. been married to mnrtsl men, and m contfamed 
for aevejral ye»n with them, and after, upon Mmt 
dirfik*, baye fotsaken ibtiii."—JMi»mie of 3Mm- 
tiofy, p. 47. 

The Irish word Merrow, anrectly written M<>- 
rioM, or Moriaek, uuwera euctly to the SngUih 
iinermud, and ia the compound of tnttir, the sea, and 
oigk, a maid. It ia alio xueA to esprets a bcb moua 
ster, like the Amioric and Cornish morhuch, to which 
it evidently beara analt^. A mermaid ia called in 
Basse BreUgne, Jfarjr Morgan, is Mary, Marie, 
or ia it derived from the aea? Morgan ha* been 
already mentioned. 

In Irish, Murdhucha'n, Hduir-gheilt, SamAghabha, 
and Suire, are varii-na names tor aea^njrmpba or mer- 
maids. The romantic hiatorianB of Iielaud describe 
t]i( Svire, or sea-njmphs, as playing ronnd the ships 
of the Milesians when on their passage to tjiat Islandi. 

The poem of Moira Borb (to be found in Min 
Jbooke's Relics of Irish Poetry) celebrates the valour 
of the Fiuian heroes in the cause of a lady, who intro- 
dnccB tmself in pretty nearly the words of the Mer- 
rOF, in the, foregoing story. " ar Ija inseiiij til5 »o 
ewii]-" I am the daughter of the king under ike 
vavet. 

The cokuUen driuih beats some resemblance to the 
feather dresses of the ladies, in the oriental tales of 
Jabanahah, and Hassan of Bassora. There is some- 

FABT ti. a 



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18 THE LADY OF 60LLERUS. 

thing alio of the lame nature in a modem GerroaD 
Tale. It ma^ be explained as an enchanted cap, from 
cui/uiarin, a sort of ntontma or monmoulk np ; and 
driadh, a cbanner or m^dan. 

In the tale, a lock on the shore is avd to lodk as 
bold as ever Kerrjr witnesi did. A Kerry witnen 
(no offence to MaeOilUcodd;) dgnifiet a witueaa who 
will swear any thing. 

" The dudecn," or the pipe, " the woman," and inch 
enpTewiona, are examples of the practice so commm 
among the Irish of using the article instead of the 
possessive pronoun. In this, and the preceding vo. 
Inme, there are many iDitance*. It agrees extremely 
with the Greek idiom; and the late hlsfaop of Cal- 
cutta might have found in it a strong exempliflcatioB 
of some point! of his doctrine respecting the atliele. 
It has, at all events, a better eftct than the empha« 
ticslly expressed my of the English. 

Dick cslla the echo the child of his voice: the 
daughter, according to General Vallancey, is a literal 
trsnslation of the Irish compound name for Echo, and 
a convincing argument ofour eastern origin. "What 
people in the world," says that fsadful antiquary, 
'' the orientalists and the Irish excepted, called the 
copy of a hook the son of a hook, and echo the 
daughter of a voice f" The General here evidently 
alludes to the Rabbinical mode of divination by 
'rfp'na, i. e, Ike daughter of the mice. 

Mucalla h the Hibernian term for the " Joeoia 
Montis imago" of Horace, and is explained by Pr, 



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THE UDT OF OOLLEBUS. 19 

O'Briei), in bia Iriah Diclionuj, u tlu pig of Ihg 
Tvek or eiiff; query, if it be not MaeaUa, timof^ 
tUff; whicb General Vtlknecr, with hia nnul in- 
genuitj ID the couftnudiag of irorda, hu traaalaled 
daughter? AilahAair, another Iriah name Air echo, 
or rather a compound echo, ia, literally, the cliffk game 
at goal, or thebonndlngaDdTebonndingrfthenHe^ 
aa the ball in that game. 

In Iceland they assign a anperaaniral or^in to 
Echo, and call it i>iwr^pina2 or the Toico of the Drergs 
or Dwarf i. 

Smerwick harbour, where the scene of the tale is 
laid, ia situated on the'north ude of a little " longne" 
of land, whicb the county Kerry shoots forth into the 
Atlantic, and which, to use the words of Camden, ia 
" beaten on with barking billows on both aides." It 
is memorable in hiatory, from the landing of some 
Spaniards anil Italians, in 1S79, under the pope's con- 
seerated banner, who threw up a defence there, called 
Fort del Ore. Sir Walter Raleigh's butchery of the 
garrison in cold blood still remains a subject of exe- 
cration in the mouths of the Iriah peasantry, and a 
Btain upon English history, which even the pens of 
Spenaer and Camden fail in Tindicatiiig. To it, 
lioweTCT, we are uid to be indebted for the poet's 
truly valuable work, " a View of the Slate of Ire- 
land," undertaken for the purpose of excusing his 
patron, lord Orey de Wilton, then lord deputy of 
Ireland. 

A map of Smerwick hatbonr, iUnstratiTe of this 
03 



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2Q THE. LADT OB GOLLERUB. 

erent, U [merTeil in thq State Paper OfBce, which 
dut Kalona and diatingnished antiqiury, Mr. Lemon, 
oonjectorea, fttmx the wriliiig, to be the pnfwmtnce 
of the aadMr of the " Fairie Queen." 

Gollenu ia a small Tillage on the eaitem ride of the 
harbour, aboat a quarter of a mile from the aboie, near, 
which there ia averjandent atone cell or dbqel, a 
baildii^ probably coeval with the round toircr. 



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FLORY CANTILLON'8 FUNERAL. 

Thb andent buri^-ploce of- the Cantilloii 
bmilj wiu on bd island in Ballyliei^ Bajr, 
Thii . island was situated at no great diatanM 
6om'the abore, and at a remote period was orer^ 
flowed in one of the incroachments which thfl 
Atlantic has made on that part of the coast i^ 
Keay. The fishermen declare they have ofteii 
nen the ruined walla of an old chapel henealli 
tliem in the water, as they sailed over the cleat 
green sea, of a sunny afiemoon. However tfaia 
m^ be, it ia well known that the CantUloni 
were, like most other Irish families, strongly at- 
tadied to their ancient burial-place ; and this at- 
fn'hmmt led. to the custom, when any of the 
family died, of csOTying the corpse to the sea side, 
where the coffin wu left on the shore within- 
itaeb t^ the tide. In the morning it had disap- 
peared, being, as was traditionally beliered, con- 
T^ed away by the ancestors of the deceased td 
tb^.fimiily tcmb. 

Ctmnor <^owe, a conntj' Choe man, was re-' 



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S2 PLOBY CAKTILLON's FUNERAL. 

lated to the CantillonB by marrisge. " Connor 
Mac in Cniagh, of the seven quarten of Brein- 
tragh," as he was commonly called, and a proud 
man he was of the name. Connor, be it known, 
would drink a i^oart of salt water, for its medi- 
cinal virtues, before breakfaat ; and for the same 
reason, I auj^Kwe, double that quantity of raw 
whlAey between breakfast and nlgbt, which last 
he did with as little inconvenience to himidf ai 
any man ia the barony of Moyferta ; and were I 
to add Clandendaw and Itn-ickaQ, I don't think I 
■ihould Bay wrong. 

On the death of Florence Cantillon, Connor 
Crowe was determined to latlafy himielf about 
Uie bcutb of this story of the old churdi under 
llie sea: so when he heard the news of t^ old 
fBOoVa death, away v^th him to Ardfert, where 
Floiy wM laid out in hl^ style, and a beautUul 
ootpse he made. 

Floiy had been as jolly and as ndloeking a hay 
in his day aa ever was stretched, and his wake 
WU in every respect worthy of him. There mw 
•U kind of entertainment and all sort of divenian 
at it, and no leas tluta three girla got hnebanda 
there — more luck to them. Every Ijiing was as 
it should be : all that side of &e country, from 
Dingle to Tarbert, was at the firaend. The Keen 
was sung Imig and bitterly ; and accoiding lo Aie 



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FLOAT CANTILLOHS FUNERAL. 28 

familv ciutooij the coffin wu eanJod to Ballj- 
bei^ strand, where it wu laid upon tbe than 
with a prayer for the repOM of the dead. 

The moumen departed, one group after ui- 
oth^j and at lart Connor Crowe waa left alone: 
he thai pulled out hii whiskey bottle, hii drop of 
eondon as he called it, which he required, heing 
in grief; and down he mt upon a big atone that 
was ah^tered by a projecting rock, and partly 
ctmcealed from view, to await with patience the 
appearance of the ^ostly undertakers. 

The evening came on mild and beautiful; he 
whistled an old air which he had heard in his 
childhood, hoping to keep idle feats out of his 
head ; Init the wild itnUn of that melody brought 
a thona»"(l reccdlectiona with it, which only made 
the twilight appear more pensive. 

" If 'twas near the gloomy tower <£ Dunmore, 
in my own ftweet county, I waa," aoid Connor 
&DWe, with a sigh, " one mi^t well believe 
that the priaonera, who were murdered long ago, 
tha« in tbe vtnilta under the castlo, would be the 
hands to carry off the coffin out of envy, for never 
a one of them was buried decently, nor had as 
much aa a ooffin anumgat them alL 'Tia often, 
nite enough, I have heard lamentations and great 
moaming coming from the vaults of Dunmore 
CasUfr; but," continned he^ after fondly prcaung 



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84 FLOKY CANTILLON 8 FUNERAL. 

his lips to the moutb of his companion, and silent 
comforter, the whiskey bottle, " didn't I know 
all the time well enou^, 'twas the dismal sound- 
ing wares working through the cliffi and hollows 
of the rocks, tmd fretting themselves to fbain. 
Oh f;hen, Ounmore Castle, it is you that are the 
l^oomy locking tower on a gloomy day, with the 
gloomy hills behind you ; when one has gloomy 
thou|^ts on their heart, and sees you like a ghost 
rising out of the smoke made by the kelp bumen 
on the strand, there is, the Lord save us I as fear- 
ful a look about you as about the Blue Man's Lake 
at midnight. Well then, any how," said Connor, 
after a pause, " is it not a blessed night, though 
surely the moon looks mighty pale in the face? 
St. Senan himself between us and all kinds of 
harm." 

It was, in truth, a lovely moonlight night ; no- 
thing was to be seen around but the dark rocks, 
and the white pebbly beach, upon which the sea 
broke with a hoarse and melancholy murmur. 
Connor, notwithstanding his frequent draughts, 
felt lather queerish, and almost began to rq>ent 
his curiosity. It was certainly a solemn sight to 
behold the blatk coffin resting upon the white 
strand. His imagination gradually converted the 
deep moaning <£ old ocean into a moiunfiil wail 
fm the dead, and &om the shadowy recess^ it^ 



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FLOBV cahtillom's fvheral. 25 
the rocks lie imaged forth strange and viiionaiy 

As the night adraiiced, Connor hecame weary 
with watching ; he caught himtelf more than 
once in the iact of nodding, when suddenly giving 
hiG head a shake, he would look towards the 
Uack coffin. Bat the narrow house of death re- 
mained umnoVed before him. 

It was long past midnight, and the moon 
was sinking into the sea, when he heard the 
sound of many voices, which gradually became 
stronger, ahove the heavy and monotonous roll of 
the sea : he listened, and presently could diatin- 
duish a Keen, of exquisite sweetness, the notes of 
which rose and fell with the heaving of the waves, 
whose deep murmur min^^d with and supported 
the strain ! 

The Keen grew louder and louder, and seemed 
to approach the beach, and then fell into a low 
. plaintive wail. As it ended, Connor beheld a 
number of strange, and in the dim light, myst^ 
rious-looking figures, emerge firom the sea, and 
(uiTound the coffin, whidi they prqiared to launch 
into ihe water. 

" This cornea of marrying with the creature* 
di earth," said one of the figures, in a clear, yet 
hdlow tone. 

" True," replied another, with a voice stiU 



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26 TLOEY CANTILLOK 8 FUKERAL. 

more fearful, " our king would uever have com- 
manded bis gnawing white-toothed wares to de- 
vour the Tock7 roots of the island cemetery, had 
not his dau^ter, Durfulla, been buried there by 
her mortal husband !" 

" But the time will come," said a third, bend- 
ing over the coffin, 

" When mortal eye — our work shall spy. 
And mortal ear — our dirge shall hear." 

" Then," said a fourth, " our burial of the 
Candllons is at an end for ever I" 

As this was spoken, the ct^n was borne from 
the beach 1^ a retiring wave, and the company 
of lea people pr(Q>ared to follow it ; but at the 
moment, one chanced to discover Connor Crowe, 
as fixed with wonder and as motionless with fear 
as the stone on which he sat. 

" The time is come," cried the unearthly 
being, " the time is come ; a human eye looks 
on the forms of ocean, a human ear has heard 
their voices : forewell to the Cantillons ; the sons 
of the tea are no longer doomed to bury the dust 
of the earth I" 

One after the other turned slowly round, and 
regarded Connor Crowe, who still remained as 
if bomid by a spell. Again arose their funeral 
song; and on the next wave they followed the 
lii^n. The sound of the lamentation died away. 



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FLORV CANTILLON's FUNERAL. S7 

and at length nothing was heard but the rush of 
waters. The coffin and the train of sea people 
■ank over the old church-yard, and never, since 
the fiineral of old Flory Cantillon, have any of 
the &milj been carried to the strand of Ballj- 
heigh, for conveyance to their rightful buiial- 
place, beneath the waves of the Atlantic. 



Another version of this wild and picturesqne tra- 
dition has been communicated to the writer by Mr. 
Lynch, of the King's Gennsn legion. Inbothl^nds. 
the locality is the same ; but the name of the M'£l- 
licot family is substituted for that of the Cantillons. 
The latter, however, accords with the statement of 
Doctor Smith, in hia History of Kerry, p. 810. 

" The ndghbouring inhabitants," says that writer, 
speaking of Bsllyh«gh, " show some rocks visible in 
this bay only at low tides, which they say are the re- 
mains of an island that was formerly the burial-place 
ol the family of Cantillon, the ancient proprietors of 
Ballybeigh-" 

In the {O'cceding note njenlion has been msde of 
the ooqjngal union contracted between the human 
race and the inhabitania of the deep. An attach- 
ment, however, between the finny tribes and man 
ha* some fonndation in fact, if we are to credit the 
teatimony of the andenta. In the following story 



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28 FLORT CAHTILLOHS FDHBIAL. 

giveD by Athennu, Uiongh dotphini do not exactly 
act as undertaken, thej leem to have perfbnned the 
put of monnwn. 

The dolphin, uya Athenieiu (Lib. 13. Cap. 8.), 
is of all animals the fondest of men, the moat sen- 
sible, and one poasetsing the Tirtue of gratitude. 
Fhylarchus relates, in his ISth Book, that Cmr- 
anus, the MUesian, seeing some flshennen who bad 
caught a dolphin in their nets, and were about to cut 
him up, gave them some money, and prevailed cm 
them to throw him back into the sea. Some time 
after happening to be shipwrecked near Mycooos, all 
on board petished except Coirattus, nho wss atred 
fay a dolphin. CiHranus died when an old man, in 
his own country ; and the Ameial hc^pening to take 
place on the shore, bj Miletus, a great number (£ 
dolphins appeared in the harbour on that day, and . 
swam at a little distance along the shore after those 
'who attended the funeral, joining, as it were, the 
procesBiim, as mourners, and attending on the liineral 
of the man. 

Pliny mentions a pretty anecdote of the fnendship 
existing between a boy and a dolphin, which seems 
to have been a &T0urite tale, as it is also related both 
by ^Uan and Aulus GeUius. 

Connor Crowe will be recognised by those ac- 
quainted with the county Claie, as a faithiul sketch 
fromjuiture. The Blue Man's Lake mentioned in his 
soliloquy is situated in. the Bog of Shragh, about four 



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FLOBY CANTILLON's FUNERAL. S9 

miles from Kilnub. It ii to named ^m the tradi- 
tioD, tliat a spectMl figure eoTcloped in a bluiili flame 
haimts its melancholy waten, 

DurfvOa, the name of the sea-king's daughter, who 
mamed Flor; CantiUon's anceitor, signifin leaping 
water. " Gnawing white toothed wayei" is the literal 
translation of s common Irish epithet. 



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THE SOUL CAGES. 

Jack Doohbrty lived on the coatt of ihe 
county Clare. Jack was a fisherman, as hia fa- 
thei and grandfather before him had been. Like 
tliem, too, he lived all alone (but for the wife), 
and just in the Bame Bpot. People used to wtoider 
why the D(^her^ family were bo fond of that 
wild situation, bo far away lioni all human kind, 
and in the midst of huge shattered rocks, with 
nothing but the wide ocean to look upon. But 
they had their own good reasons for it. 

The place was just the only spot on that part 
of the coast where any body could well liTe ; 
there was a neat little creek, where a boat might 
lie as snug as a puffin in her nest, and out &om 
this creek a ledge of sunken rocks ran into the 
sea. Now when the Atlantic, according to cus- 
tom, was raging with a storm, and a good west- 
eiiy wind was blowing strong on the coast, many 
a richly laden ship went to pieces on these rocks ; 
and then the fine bales of cotton and tobacco, and 
such like things, and the pipes of wine, and the 



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THE SOUL CAGES. 31 

puncheons of rum, and tlie casks of bnmdy, and 
the kegs of HaUands that used to come ashore ! 
Dunfaeg Bsy was just like a little estate to the 
Dc^iertys. 

Not but they were kind and humane to a di^ 
tretsed sailor, if ever me had the good luck to 
get to land ; and many a time indeed did Jack put 
out in his little corragh (which, though not giiita 
equal to honest Andrew Hennessy's canvas life- 
boat, would breast the billows like any gonnet), 
to lend & hand towards bringing tff the crew 
from a wreck. But when the ship had gone to 
pieces, and the crew were all lost, who would 
blame Jock for picking up all he could find ? 

" And who is the worse of it ? " said he. " For 
as to the king, God Uess bim 1 every body knows 
be 's rich enough already without getting what 's 
floating in the sea." 

Jack, though BUch a hermit, was a goodnatured 
jolly fellow. No other, sure, could ever have 
coaxed Biddy Mohony to quit her father's snug 
and warm house in the middle of the town of 
Ennig, and to go so many miles off to live among 
the rocks, with tbe seals and sea gulls for next 
door neighbours. But Biddy knew that Jack was 
the man for a woman who wished to be comfiat- 
able and happy ; for, to say nothing of the fish. 
Jack had the supplying of half the gentlemen's 



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9Z THE SOUL CASES. 

hoUKS of the countiy with the Godsatdt' iba.t 
came into the bay. And she waa right in her 
choice ; for no woman ate, diank, or slept better, 
01 made a prouder appearance at chapel on Smh 
dayei, than Mrs. D<^hert7. 

Many a strange sight, it may well be supposed, 
did Jack see, and many a strange sound did he 
Itear, but nodiing daunted him. So far was he 
from being a&aid of Merrows, or such beings, 
that the very "first wish of his heart was to fairly 
meet with one. Jack had heard that they were 
mighty like Christians, and that luck had always 
come out of an acquaintance with them. Never, 
therefore, did be dimly digcem the Merrowi 
moving along the face of the waters in their robes 
of mist, but he made direct for them ; and many 
a scolding did Biddy, in her own quiet way, be- 
stow upon Jack for spending bis whole day out 
at sea, and bringing home no fish. Little did 
poor Biddy know the fish Jack was eSter I 

It was rather anlu^ing to Jack, that, though 
living in a place where the Merrows were as 
plenty as lobsters, he never could get a right view ' 
of one. What vexed him more was that both 
his father and grandfather had often and often 
seen them ; and he even remembered hearing, 
when a <^d, how his grandfather, who was 
the first of the £unily that had settled down at 



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THE SOtTL CAQti. 3S 

the cre^, h&d been go intimate with a Merrow,, 
that only for fear of vexing the priest, he would 
have had him stand for one of bis children. 
This, however. Jack did not well know how to 
-believe. 

Fortiine at length began to think that it wu 
only ri^t that Jack iliould know aa much as 
his father and grandfather did. Accordingly, one 
day when he had strolled a little fitrther than 
usual along the coast to the nrathward, just as 
he turned a point, he saw something, like to no- 
'Aing he bad ever seen b^bre, perched upon a 
rock at a little distance out to sea ; it locdced 
green in the body, aa well as he could discern at 
that distance, and he would have sworn, only the 
thing was impossible, that it had a cocked hat in 
its hand. Jack stood for a good half bout strain- 
ing his eyes and wondering at it, and all the time 
the thing did not stir hand or foot. At last Jack's 
patience was quite worn out, and he gave a loud 
whistle and a hail, when the Merrow (for such it 
was) started up, put the cocked hat on its head, 
and dived down, head foremost, from the rock. 

Jack's curiosity was now excited, and he con- 
stantly directed his steps towards the point ; still 
he could never get a glimpse of the sea gentle- 
man with the cocked hat; and with thinking 



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94 THE SODL CAGES. 

and thinking about the matter, be began at last 
to tBBcy he had been only dreanung. One very 
rough day, howerer, when the sea was running 
mountainB hi^ Jack Dogher^ detennined to 
give a look at the Menow's rock (for he had al- 
ways chosen a fine day before), and then he saw 
the strange thing cutting capers upon the top (^ 
the rock, and then diving down, and then coming 
up, and then diving down again. 

Jack had now only to choose his time (that is,, 
a good blowing day), and he mi§^t see the man 
of the sea as often as he pleased. All this, how- 
ever, did not satisfy him — " much will have 
more ;" he wished now to get acquainted with 
the Merrow, and even in this he succeeded. One 
tremendous blustering day, before he got to the 
-point, whence he had a view of the Merrow's 
rock, the sttnMu came on so furiously that Jack 
was obliged to take shelter in one of the caves 
which are so numerous along the coast; and 
there, to his astonishment, he saw sitting beAffe 
him a thing with green hair, long green teeth, a 
red nose, and pig's eyes. It had a fish's taU, legs 
-with scales on them, and short arms like fins ; it 
wtnre no clothes, but had the cocked hat under its 
arm, and seemed engaged thinking very seriously 
about something. 



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THE SOUL CA0B3. 3S 

Jack, with all his courage, was a little daunted ; 
hat now or ncTer, thoi)|^t be: so up he went 
boldly to the cc^tating fishman, tixA off hia hat, 
and made his best bow. 

" Your serrant, sir," said Jack. 
" Your servant, kindly. Jack Dogherty," an- 
swered the:-HerTow. 

" To be sure, then, how weU your honour 
knows my name .'" said Jack. 

" Is it I not know your name. Jack Dogherty ? 
Why, man, I knew your grandiather long bdbre 
he was married to Judy Regan, your grand- 
mother! Ah, Jack, Jack, I was ibnd of that 
grand&ther of yoUn ; be was a mighty wmthy 
man ia his time ; I never met his match above or 
below, before or since, for sucking in a' abeUful 
of brandy. I ht^, my boy," said the old fellow, 
with a merry twinkle in his little eyes, " I hope 
you 're his own grandson I" 

" Never fear me for that," said Jack ; " if my 
mother bad only reared me on brandy, 'tis myself 
^t would be a sucking inbnt to this hour !" 

" WeU, I like to hear you talk so manly ; you 
and I must be better acquE^nted, if it were only 
for your giand&tber's sake. But, Jack, that fa- 
ther of yours was not the thing; lie had no bead 
ataU." 

" I 'm sure," said Jack, " since your honour 



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36 THE SOUL CAGES: 

lives down undei the water, you must be obliged 
to drink a power to keep any heat in you in gucli 
a cruel, damp, could place. Well, I 've often 
heard of ChristlBUB drinking like fishei: and 
might I be so Im^ as to e^ where you get the 

" Where do you get them, youisolf, Jack ?" 
said the Merrow, twitching his red noae Ijetween 
his forefinger and thumb. 

" Huhbubboo," cries Jack, " now I see how it 
is ; but I suppose, sir, your honour has got a fine 
dry cellar below to keep them in." 

" Let me alone for the cellar," said the Mer- 
row, with a knowing wink of his left eye. 

" I 'm sure," continued Jack, " it must be 
mighty Veil worth the looking at." 

" You may say that. Jack," said the Mntow ; 
" and if you meet me here, next Monday, just at 
this time of the day, we will have a little more 
talk with one another about the matter." 

Jack and the Merrow parted the best friends 
in the world. 

On Monday they met, and Jack Was not a 
little surprised to see that the Merrow had two 
cocked hats with him, one under each arm. 

" Might I take the liberty to ask, sir," said 
Jack, "why your honour has brought the twp 
hats with you to-day ? You would not, surej be 



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THE SODL CAGKS. 37. 

going to give me one of them, to keep for tlie 
ciirotitg of the thing ?" . 

" No, no. Jack," said he, " I don't get my hatB 
H) easily, to part with them that way; but I 
want you to come down and dine with me, and 
I brought you the hat to 3ive with." 

" Lord bless and preserve ui !" cried Jack, in 
■masement, " would you want me to go down to 
the bottom of the salt sea ocean ? Sure I 'd be 
smothered and cholced up with the water, to say 
nothing of being drowned! And what would 
poor Biddy do for me, and whM would she say ?" 

" And what matter what she says, you jntt' 
keen'? Wbo caret fiir Biddy's squalling? It's 
long before your gtand&ther would have talked 
in that way. Many 's the time he stuck that 
same hat on bis head, and dived down boldly after 
me ; and many 's the snug bit of dinner and good 
shellful of brandy he and I have hod tether 
below, under the water," 

" Is it really, sir, and no joke Y' said Jack ; 
" why, then, sorrow from me for ever and a day 
after, if I '11 be a hit worse man nor my grand- 
&dier was ! Here goes — but play me fair now. 
Here's neck or nothing!" cried Jack. 
, " That 's your grand&ther aU over," said the 
old fdlow; "BO come ahmg then, and do ai 
I do." 



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38 THE 80GL CASES. 

They both kft the cave, wwlked into the sea, 
and then swam e, piece until they got to the rock. 
The Mertow climbed to the top of it, and Jack 
followed him. On the tar side it wai as stiaight 
as Uie wall ctf a houBe, and the sea beneath lotted 
so deep that Jack tw almost cowed. 

"Now, do you* see. Jack," said the Mewow: 
"juBt put this hat on your head, and mind to 
keep your eyes wide opes. . Take hold of my tail, 
and follow after me, and you'll see what you'll 
see." 

In he dashed, and in dashed Jack after him 
boldly. They went and they went, and Jack 
thought they 'd never stc^ going. Many a time 
did he wish himself sitting at-home by the fireside 
with Biddy. Yet, where wm the use of wishing 
now, when he wns so many miles as he thought 
belowthe waves of the AtUutlc ? Stillhehdd 
ifaid by the Merrow's tail, sl^pery as it was; 
and, at last, to Jack's great nirpiise, they got out 
of the water, and he actually found him i iel f on dry 
land at the bottom of the sea. They landed just 
inlront of a nicefaouse tliat was slated very neady 
with oyster iheUs ! and the Merrow turning about 
to Jack, welcomed him down. 

Jack could hardly speak, what with wondra', 
and what with being out of breath with tra- 
velling so ftst through the water. He looked- 



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THE 80DL CA0I3. , 99 

about him and could see no living things, barring 
crabs and lobflters, of which there were plenty 
w^iag leisurely about on the sand. Overhead 
was the sea Iik« a sky, and the fishes like birds 
swimming about in It. 

" Why don't you speak, mauF" said the Mer- 
row : " I dare say you had no notion that I had 
sudi a anug little concern here as this ? Are you 
smothered, or chewed, or drowned, or are you 
fretting after Biddy, eh?" 

" Oh I not myself, indeed," said Jfu^, showing 
hi« teeth with a good-humoured grin; — "but 
who in the world would ever have though^ of 
seeing such a thing f" 

" Well, come along and let 's nee what they 're 
got for us to eat?" 

Jac^ -Teally was hungry, and it gave him no 
■mail pkasUte to perceive a fine column c^ smtAa 
rigbig from the chimney, announdng what wm 
going on within. Into the house he tbllowed the 
Honrw, and there he saw a good kitxhen, rij^t 
well provided with every thing. There was a 
noble dreflser, and |Qenty of pots and pans, with 
two young Merrows cooking. His host then led 
him into the room, which was furnished shabbily 
cuou^. Not a table or a chair was there in it ; 
nothtng hut planks and logs of wood to sit on, 
and eat off. There was, howevCT, a good fire 



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40 THE BODL CACaS. 

Uaiing on the heartli — p colnfcHrtftUe sight to 
Jack. 

" Come now, and I 'U show you where I keep 
—you know what,'' said the Merrow, with a si; 
look ; and opening a little door, he led Jack into |i 
fine long cellar well filled with pipes, and k^, 
and hogsheadi, andlnnek. 

" What do you say to that. Jack Dogherty ? — 
Eh ! — may be a body can't live snug under the 
water?" 

" Never the doubt of that/' said Jade, with a 
Gonvjncing smack of his under lip, that he really 
thou^t what he said. 

They went back to the room, and fonnd dinner 
laid. There was no table-doth, to be sure— but 
what matter? It was not always Jack hod (me 
at home. The dinner would have been no dis- 
credit to the first house of the county on a fart 
day. The choicest of fish, and no wonder, wai 
there. Turbots, and soles, and lobsten, and oyrten, 
and twenty other kinds were on the planks at 
once, and plenty of the best of ftveign ^liitK 
The wines, the old fellow said, were too cold for 



Jack, ate and dtank till he could eat no more : 
then taking up a shell of brandy, " Here 'a to your 
honour's good health, sir," said he; "though, 
hegging your pardon, it 'a mighty odd, that as long 



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THS SOUL CAGES. 41 

as we 've been acquainted, I don't know jour 
name yet." 

"That's true. Jack," replied he; "I nerer 
thought of it beibie, but better late than never. 
My name 'a Coomara." 

" And & mighty decent name it ia," cried Jack, 
taking another ahdlful ; " here 's to your good 
health, Coomara, and may you live these fifty 
yean to oome !" 

" Fif^ years 1" repeated Coomara ; " I 'ni 
obliged to you, indeed! If you had said fire 
hundred, it would hare been something worth 
the wiihii^." 

" By the laws, sir," cries Jack, '■ youx live to a 
powerful great age here under the water I You 
knew my grandfather, and he's dead and gone 
better than these sixty years. I 'm sure it must 
be a mighty healthy place to live in." 
' " tHo doubt of it ; but come. Jack, keep the 
liquor stirring." Shell after shell did they empty, 
and to Jack's exceeding surpriae, he found the 
drink never got into his head, owing, I suppose, 
to the sea being over them, which kept their 
noddles cool. 

Old Coomara got exceedingly comfortable, and 
sung several songs ; but Jack, if his life had de> 
pended on it, never could remember more than 



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4S THE SOUL CAGES. 

Rumfum boodk boo, 

Sipple dipple nitii/ dob ; 
J)um doo doodle too, 

Ri^ taffie ehiUibob I 

It was the chorus to one of them ; and to oay the 
truth, nobody that I know has ever been able to 
pick any particular meaning out of it j but that, 
to be sure, k the case with many a song now-a- 
days. 

At length «aid he to Jack, " Now, my dear boy, 
if you follow me, I % show you my curontie* ,'" 
He opened a little door and led Jack into a lai^ 
room, where Jack saw a great many odds and • 
ends that Coomara had picked up at one time or 
another. What chiefly took his attention, Itow- 
erer, were things like lobster pots ranged on the 
ground along the walL 

" Well, Jack, how do you like my curoti^t f" 
said old Coa 

" Upon my moirins, sir," said Jack, " they 're 
mi^ty well worth the looking at ; hut mig^t I 
make so bold as to ask what these things like 
lobster pots are?" 

" Oh ! the Soul Cages, is it ?" 
, " The what ? Sir I" 

". These thin^p here that I keep the Souls in." 



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THE EOUL C-ACES. 4S 

" Arrah ! what Souls, sir ?" said Jack ia 
amazement : " sure the fish have got no houIb in 
them?" 

" Oh ! no," replied Coo, quite coolly, " that 
they have not ; but these are the souls of drowned 
aulois." 

' " The Lord preserve us from all harm !" niut- 
tn«d Jack, " how in the world did you get 
then?" 

" EasUy enou^ : I 've only when I see a good 
storm coming on, to set a couple of doaen of these, 
and then, when the sailors are drowned and the 
souls get out of them under the water, the poor 
things are almost perished to death, not being 
used to the cold ; bo they make into my pots for 
shelter, and then I have them snug, and fetch 
them home, and keep them here dry and warm ; 
and is it not well for them poor souls to get into 
BU(i good quarters V 

Jack was so thunderstnick, he did not know 
what to say, so he said nothing. They went 
back into the dining-room and had a little more 
brandy, which was excellent, and then as Jai^ 
knew that it must be getting late, and as Biddy 
mi^t be uneasy, he stood up, uid said he thought 
it was time for him to be on the rood. 

" Just as ybu like, Jtitik," said Coo, " but tiki 



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44 THE SOUL cages; 

a due an durrut before jon go ; you 've a cAld 
journey before you," 

Jack knew better manneti tban to refuse t]te 
parting glaas. " I wonder," said he, " will I be 
able to make out my way home?" 

" What should ail you," said Coo, " when 1 11 
show you the way ? 

Out they went before the house, and Coomara 
took one of the cocked hats, and put it upon 
Jack's head the wrong way, and then lifted him 
up on his shoulder that he might launch him up 
into the water. 

" Now," says he, giving him a heave, " you '11 
come up just in the same spot you came down in, 
and. Jack, mind and throw me back the hat." 

He canted Jack o£F his shoulder, and up he 
shot like a bubble — whirr, whirr, whiz — away he 
went up through the water, till he came to the 
very rock he had jumped off, where he found a 
landing-place, and then in he threw the hat, 
which sunk like a stone. 

The sun was just going down in the beautiful 
sky of a calm summer's evening. Featcor was 
seen dimly twinkling in the cloudless heaven, 
8 solitary star, and the waves of the Atlantic 
flashed in a golden flood of light. So Jack, per*- 
ceivin^ it wu late, set off home ; but when he got 



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THE SOUL CAGES. 4A 

there, not r votd did he My to Biddy of when he 
had spent his day. 

The state of the poor Souli cooped up in the 
lobster pots g&ve Jack a great deal of trouble, 
and how to release them cost him a great deal 
of thought. He at fUst had a mind to speak to 
the priest about the matter. But what could the 
priest do, and what did Coo care for the priest f 
Besides, Coo was a good sort of an old fellow, and 
did not think he was doing any barm. Jack had 
a K^^wd for him too, and it also might not be 
much to his own credit if it were known that he 
used to go dine with Murrawg. On the whole, 
he thought bis best plan would be to ask Coo to 
dinner, and to make him drunkj if he was able, 
and then to take the hat and go down and turn 
up the pots. It was first of all necesaiy, how- 
ever, to get Biddy out of the way ; fbi Jack was 
prudent enough, as she was a woman, to wish to 
keep the thing secret from her. 

Accordingly, Jack grew mighty pious all of a 
sudden, and said to Biddy, that bo thought it 
would be for the good of both of their souls if she 
was to go and take her rounds at Saint John's 
Well, near Ennis. Biddy thought so too, and 
accordingty off she set one fine morning at 6af 
dawn, ^ving Jack a strict charge to have an eye 
to the place. 



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46 THS SOUL CAGES. 

The coast being dear, awajt went Jack to the 
rock to give the appointed signal to Coomua, 
which was tiuowing a big Btone into the water. 
Jack threw, and up sprang Coo I 

" Good morrow. Jack," said he ; " what do jon 
want with me ?" 

" Just nothing at all to speak about, sir," re- 
turned Jack, " only to come and take a Ut of 
^nner with me, if I might make bo free as to ask 
you, and sure I 'm now aXbtz doing so." 

" It 'a quite agreeable, Jack, I assure you ; 
what '■ jroui hour ?" 

" Any time that 'b most cimvenieat to you, t^ 
— uy one o'clodc, that you may go home, if you 
wish, with the day-light." 

" 1 11 be with you," said Coo, " never fear me." 

Jack went home, and dressed a noble fish 
^nner, and got out plenty of his best foreign 
spirits, enough for that matter to make twenty 
men drunk. JuBt to the minute came Coo, with 
his cocked hat under his arm. Dinner was ready 
— they sat down, and ate and drank away man- 
fully. Jack thinbing of the poor Souls below in 
the pots, plied old Coo well with brantty and en- 
couraged him to sing, hoping to put bjiti under 
the table, but poor Jack forgot that he had not the 
sea over his own head to keep it c«raL The brandy 
got into it and did his business for him, and Coo 



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THB SOUL CAGES. 47 

veded off home, leaving Ui eatertalner u dumb 
as a, haddock on a Good Friday. 

Jack never woke till the next morning, and 
then he was in a rad way. " Tis to no use for 
me thinking to make that old Rapparee drunk," 
said Jack, " and how in this world can I help the 
poor Souls out of the lohster pots?" After ru- 
minating nearly the whole day, a thought itruck 
him. " I have it," says he, slapping his knee ; 
" 1 11 be sworn that Coo never flaw a drop of 
poteen as old as he is, and that 'a the thing to 
settle him ! Oh I then is not it well that Biddy 
ivill not be home these two days yet ; I can have 
another twist at him." 

Jack asked Coo again, and Coo laughed at him 
for having no better head, telling him, he 'd never 
come up to his grandfather. 

" Wdl, but try me again," said Jack, " and 
I II be bail to drink you drunk and sober, and 
drunk again." 

" Any thing in ray power," said Coo, " to 
oblige you." 

At this dinner. Jack took care to have his own 
liquor well watered, and to give the strongest 
brandy he had to Coo. At last, says he ; " Pray, 
sir, did you ever drink any poteen? — any real 
Mountain dew ?" 



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4S THE SOUL CAGES. 

" No," 8878 Coo ; " what 's that, 8uid where 
does it come from ?" 

" Ob, that 's a secret," raid Jack, " but it's the 
right stuff— nerer believe me again, if 'tia not, 
a^ times as good as teandj or mm either. 
Biddy's In^rther just sent me a present of a little 
drop, in exchange for some brandy, and as you *re 
ftn old liiend of the family, I kept it to treat you 

" Well, let 's see what sort of thing it is," said 
Coomara. 

The poteen was the right sort. It was first 
rate, and had the real smack upon it. Coo was 
delighted; he drank and he sung, Rtim bvm 
boodle boo over and over again ; and he laughed 
and he danced tiU he fell on the floor fast asleep. 
Then Jack, who had taken good care to keep 
himsdf sober, anapt up the cocked hat — ran off 
to the rock — leaped iuj and soon arrived at Coo's 
habitation. 

AU was as still as a church-yard at midnight — 
not a Merrow old or young was there. In he 
went and turned up the pots, but nothing did he 
see, only he heard a sort of a little whistle or 
chirp as he raised each of them. At this he 
was surprised, till he recollected what the priest 
had oflen said, that nobody living could see the 



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THX SOUL CAGES. 49 

soul, no more tlian they could Ke the wind ta the 
air ! Having now done all that he could do for 
them, he set the pots as they weie befine, and 
aent a blessing after the poor souU, to speed them 
on their journey wherever they were going. Jack 
now began to think of returning ; he put the hat 
on, as was li^t, the wrong way; but when he 
got out, he found the wat^r so high over his head, 
that he had no hopes of ever getting up into it, 
now that he had not old Coomara to give him 
a lift. He walked about looking for a ladder, 
but not one could be find, and not a rock was 
there in sight. At last be raw a spot where the 
sea hung rather lower than any where else, so he 
resolved to try there. Just as he came to it, a 
big cod happened to put down bis taiL Jack 
made a jump. and caught hold of it, and the cod, 
all in amazement, gave a bounce and pulled Jack 
up. The minute the hat touched the water, pop 
away Jack was whisked, and up he shot like a 
cork, dragging the poor cod, that be forgot to let 
go, up with him, tail foremost. He got to the 
rock in no time, and without a moment's delay 
hurried home, rejoicing in the good deed he had 
done. But, meanwhile, there was fine work at 
home; for our friend Jack had hardly left the 
house on his soul^&eeing e^edition, when back 
came Biddy from her soul-saving oqe to the well- 
' FAST II. X 



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50 TKB SOUL CAGES. 

When she entered tlie house and saw the thmg> 
lying t&rie-na kelah on the tsUe beibre her, 

"Here 'b a pretty Job 1" Bud gh^— " thotbhuk- 
guard (rf' mkiB — what iU-hick I had ever to many 
him ! He faa> picked up some vagabond or other, 
while I wai praybig for the good of his soul, and 
they've been drinking ailibe poUen that my own 
brother gave him, and all the Rpirits, to be sure, 
that he w&i to have sold to his bonour."-~Tken 
hearing an outlandiBh kind of grunt, she looked 
down, and saw Coomara lying under the table—- 
" The Uened Vii^n help me," shouted she, " if 
he has not made a real beast of bimself ! Well, 
well, I 've often heard of a man making a beut 
of himself with drink ! — Oh hone — oh hone — Jack, 
honey, what will I do with you, or what will I 
do without you? How can any decent woman 
ever think of living with a beast ?"— - 

With Euch like lamentations Biddy rushed out 
of the house, and was going, she knew not where, 
when she he«rd the well-known voice of Jack 
sing^g a merry tune. Glad enough was Biddy 
to find him safe and sound, and not turned into 
a thing that was like neither fish nor flesh. Jack 
was obliged to tell her all, and Biddy, thou^ 
■he had half a mind to be angry with him for not 
telling her before, owned that he had dona a great 
service to the poor souls. Back they both went 



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TBK SOUL CAOEI. HI 

most lovingly to the hoose, and J<tck wtikeaid up 
Coomant; (tnd percriving the old fellow to be ra- 
ther dull, he bid him not be cast down, for 'twaa 
many a good man's case ; said it all came ot his 
not being lued to the poteen, and recommended 
him, by way of cure, to swallow a hair of the d(^ 
that Ut him. Coo, however, seemed to think he 
had had quite enough : he got up, quite out (f 
sorts, and without havii^ the mannen to say one 
word in the way of civility, he sneaked off to coed 
himself by a jaunt through the salt water. 

Cooniara never missed the souls. He and Jack 
continued the best fiends in the world, and no 
one, perhaps, ever equalled Jack at freeing souls 
&ora purgatory ; for he contrived fif^ excuses for 
getting into the house below the sea, unknown to 
the old fellow, and then turning up the pots and 
letting out the souls. It vexed hini, to be aur^ 
diat he could never see themj but as he knew the 
diing to be impouiUe, he was obliged to be sa- 
dsGed. 

Their intercourse continued for several yeai«> 
However, one morning, on Jack's throwing in a 
stone as usual, he got no answer. He ilung an- 
other, and another; still there was no reply. He 
went Bway, and returned the following morn- 
ing, but it was to no purpose. As he was with- 
out the hat, he could not go down to see what had 
b2 



53 THE BOUL CAGBS. 

become of old Coo, but his belief was, tbat the old 
man, ot the old fish, or whatever he -wa*, had 
either died, or bad removed awaf from that port 
of the Gountry. 



In Gritnin'B Deviehe Sagan, there it a itory which 
hu a ■trilling resemblance Co the foregoingj and it is 
accuTateljp translated for the rake of comparJMHi. 

A waterman once lived on good terms with a pea- 
sant, who dwelt not far from bis lake; he often 
viuled him, and at lait b^ged that the peaiant would, 
in return, viut him in his house under the water. 
The peasant consented, and went with him. There 
waa every thing below, iu the water, aa in a stately 
palace on the land,-^halls, chambers, and cabinets, 
with costly furniture irf every description. " The wa- 
terman led his guest through the whole, and showed 
him every thing that was in it. Tbey came at length 
to a little chamber, where there were standing aereral 
new pots turned npsidedovrn. The peasant asked what 
was in them. " They contain," said be, " the souls of 
drowned peo{Je which I put under the pots, and keep 
them close so that they cannot get away." The pea- 
sant said nothing, and came up again on the land. 
The afliur of the souls caused him much uneauncas 
for a long time, and be watched tUl the waterman 
should be gone out. When this baj^pened, the pea- 



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THE SOUL CAGK8. 53 

unt who had marked the right road down, descended 
into [he wBter-bouae, «□() succeeded id finding again 
the little chamber; and when he was there, he turned 
np all the pots, one after another; immediately the 
aouls of the drowned men ascended out of the water, 
and were again at liberty. 

Grimm says that he was told the waterman is like 
any other man, only that when he opens hia month> 
hit green teeth may be seen ; he also wears a green 
hat, and appears to the girls, as they go by the lake 
he dwells in, measurea out ribbon and flings it to 



Doubeg Bay is Edtnaled on the coast of the county 
Clare, and may be readDy found on any map of Ire- 
land. Ctnragh, or curmgh, is a small boat used by 
the flBhermen of that part, and is formed of cow 
hides, or lutched cloth, strained on a frame of wicker- 
work. The boldness and confidence of the navigators 
of these fragile vessels often surpriaea the itrai^ia'. 
By the Irish poeta they are invariably termed broadi 
cheated or strong-bowed corraghs ; " Cwraghmine 
aulin deanorthin," aa it is pronounced. It is thecara- 
iujof the later Latin writers, thoB described by Isidore : 
Carabus, parva acapha ex vimine facta, que contezta 
cmdo corio genus navigii prabet." — Iiidorua, Orig. 
1. x'riii c 1. It is also described in some pleasii^ 
nnea by Festus Avienua. Grscfe nifait^, see Suidas 
and Et. Mag. 

Of honest Andrew Henneaay's canvaa life-boat it is 
only Decenary to state, that the inventor, with a crew 



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54 THE SODL CAB88. 

of fiTfrMuneii, weathered the equlnoctUl B>le of Oc- 
taba 18Sfi^(tbeaeTere«t Temembered fornuny jean], 
.in ut expttiinental pin>((e from Cork to LiTerpool. 
After m> ooDviDcing a trUl, it ia t« be regretted that 
Mr. HenneHj uid his plans for the pTCMiratioii of 
human life have not experienced more attention. 
. St Jdin's Well, whither Mri.Do^urtjrjaumejed 
to take her rouDda, lie* at the foot of a hill, about 
ithree tnileafrom SnniajandcloBetoit isamdealtor, 
■t which, the lupentitioua ofi^T ap their pnycn. 
:rhe wtier of thii, like other holy welli, ia believed 
to poiBew the power of restoring the use of the limba, 
fudag defective vision, &c. Near the well there is a 
«nul1 lough, said to be the abode of a ittange kind 
of bdi « meimaid, wbich med to ^pear veryfre> 
quently. This lady.ofthalake wuobaervedreaortiiig 
to Ow cellar «CN«i*baIl, tbo seat of Mi;. M'DonaJl. 
'Tbe. . butler, pcroeiviBg the wine decrease rapidly, 
^eMRuiaed, wiA some of bis fdlow-Kmnts, to 
watcfa far the tfaia^ and at last they can^t the mer- 
ouid in the fkct of drinking it. The enraged bntler 
ilirew her into a obaldroD of boilitig water, when 
ahe Tanlctaed, «&cr nttoing three piercing ibrieki, 
Jeaving <nly amastof jelly behind. Since that pe- 
riod, her appearances hare been rettrictfd to osca in 
■vety Kven years. 

MoTOWB are said to be as fond of wine as snakes 
are of milk, and for the sake of it to steal on board of 
dlips in the night time. Pai»aniis tells na, Aat the 
dticeitB of TaBBgnt wne giMtly aniHycd by a Tribn 



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THE BOUL CAORS. 55 

who ireqiunted the ndghboiuiiig eout. By ihe ad- 
vice of the orscl^ they iet A l^Tge venel of wine on 
the beach, which the Triton emptied on his next vidt ; 
the liquor made lum drunk, snd the dtiieni cut off 
his head as he slept. 

Coomara or ei-mara, meani the sea-hoond. The 
Irish fainUy of Maouuiura or Muonmara ate, ac- 
cording to tradition, descended from eimara, and 
hence their name ftom mac a «on, con the genitive of 
CM a greyhound, and mara of the lea. 

The Macnamaia clan inhabited the western district 
of the county Clare, and were dependant on the 
O'&iens. 

Gumara'a aong, if indeed it be not altogether tbe 
invention of the nanatiH', may be eonsideced u an 
eztremdy< curious lyrical' ftagment. But few will feel 
indined to acknowledge ita garainensii, as nothing 
appears to be more easy than to fabrioMe a dhort 
effiuion of thia kind, or even an entire language. 
FsahnanaHur's FwrnoMn langnage is w«U known. 
Rabelais abwinds in epeohnens. Shakespeare, in 
" All 's well that ends weil," has tried hi> hand at it. 
Swift baa given some nxwaels of LiUputian, Brobdig- 
nagiaHi and other toi^ues ; and any one ciuioui about 
ftiry language haa only to look into Giroldus Cam- 
breurik. Even the Inhalntanta of the lower region* 
have had a dialect invented for them, as the foUowii^ 
nlnable extract {rom the Macaronica of the profbund 
Uerlinns Coeaius vrill ptove. See the opening of the 
jcxiT. boiA: 



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56 THE SOUL CAGES. 

" Cra en tif mfbot ^eflet eanaUnU riognft 
Ecce venit gilduido Chiron—" 

which, in a margiDiI note, he kindly infomia us — 
" nee Gnecum nee Hebneum, sed diabolicum est" 
And perhapa even the well known lioe of Dante, of 
which it ie 



" Fape Satan, pape Satan Aleppe," 
ia nee Latiunm, nee Hebnenin, sed diaboUcuro, alao. 

A tnndatton of old Cu'a aong, however, it is ex- 
pected, would add little to our itock of knowledge, as, 
judging from the indubitable spedmena which exiat, 
the remark* of the aea folk are not very profound, 
although they evince aingular powers of observation. 

Waldmm, in hii account of the lale of Man, relates 
that an ainpbibioui damsel wsa once caught, and after 
remaining three days on shore was allowed to escape. 
On plunging into the water she was weleomed by a 
nnmber of her own ipedea, who were heard to in- 
quire what she had seen among the natives of earth. 
— " Nothing," she answered, " wonderful, except 
that they were silly enough to throw away the water 
in which they had boiled their egga I" 

Bochart tells us, on the authority of Alkaxuinius, 
■n Arabic author, that there is a aea-animal which 
exactly reaemblei a man, only that he has a tail ; he 
has, moreover, a grey beard ; hence he ia called the 
old man of the sea. Once upon a time one of them 
was brought to a certain king, who, out of cnxioaity, 
gave him a wifie. They bad a aon who obnM apeak 



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THE SOUL CAGES. 5T 

the Ungntgea of both hia parenti. The boj mu uked 
one A*j what his father laid ; bnt u the reply mnit 
necewarilj looe by tranBlation, it is given in the (Ki- 
pnal Greek. He aniwered, " Tb anrifa ^> Axu^u^ht 

Od the Iiishumg uiied in the Legend of " the Soul 
Cages" a few words. Armh is a common exclamation 
of Eorprise. It i£ correctly written ara, and, acctvd- 
ing to Dr. O'Brien, signifteB a conference. A popular 
phrase is, " Arrah come here now," i, e. come here 
and let OB tallc over the matter. 

Due an Dumu, Anglic^, the stdrnip cup, meuia 
literally, the drink at the doOT ; from Dtoch, to drink, 
and Dortu or Duras, a door. In Devonshire and Corn- 
wall it is called AuA unifZlarnu, probably a corruption 
of the old Cornish espression. 

Sapparee was the name given to certain freebooter* 
in the times of James and William. It is used in the 
story rather as a torn of regard, as we sometimes em- 
ploy the wmd rogue. 

Thrie-na-helah may he translated by the English 
word topsy'turrey. 

Pmkeen and Saukin are diminutives ; the ftmner of 
Penk or Knk, the name of the little fish more com- 
monly called in England, Minnow. Souikin ia evi- 
dently s contraction of Souikin, the diminutive of soul. 
It answers to the German Seelchen, and is an old En- 
glish ezprewioD, no longer, it is believed, to be met 
with in that country, but very conunon u a aaoar 
oath in Ireland. 



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58 THE eOITL CAGES. 

J9JC f A« ZotDt, is, as is well known, a K>ftemng dawn 
dl t, \try Bdenm usevention. If taken Uterallj. 
people may fancy it an oath not very binding in the 
moath of an Iriihman, who ii leldoni dUtinguldied 
by hii profbnnd veneratifin ibr the Statnte Book. 
This, however, only prores that law and jtutiee in 
Ireluid were ess«itially diSbrent things ; for sir John 
Daviea, himself a lawyer, remarked, long since, how 
fond the nativn were of jnitice; and it is to be hoped 
that e regular and impartial administration will speed- 
ily impress th«n as synonimes on the minds of the 
Irish peasantry. 

-Few need'to be infbrmed that the bmr orders in 
Ireland, althoagh their lone is different, speak the 
XngUsh language more grammatically Aan those of 
the same rank in Enghrnd. The word ye% or yous «f- 
fbids sn instance of thdr attention to etymology ; fbr 
iw diej employ you in speaking to a nn^ person, 
they naturally enough imagined that It should be em- 
ployed in the plural when addressed to more than one. 

" A hair oi the dog that bit him," is the common 
lecommendationof tnoUtopa toayoongone, on the 
morning after a dehaod. 

" Bhall we phid: • hair of the nme wtdf to-day, 
Tnetot John?"— £ni Jtmttm't Bartkohmttir Fair, 
Act 1. Scene 1. 



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THE LORD OP DUNKERRON. 

Thb lord of Dunkemm — O'SulUran More, 
Why seeks he Kt midnight the Beo-beaten shoie i 
His bark liei in haTen, his hounds are asleep ; 
No foes are alsoad on the land oi the deep. 

Yet nighdy the lord of Dunkenm ii known 
On the w^ ihoie to watfh and to wander alone ; 
For a beautiful spirit of ocean, 'tis said. 
The lord trf'Sunkeiron would win to his bed. 

-When, hy mocmlight, the waters were hush'd to 

repoK, > 

That beautiful spirit ti£ ocean arose ; 
Her hair, full ctf lustre, just floated and fell 
O^tx her bosom, that heaved with a billowy swell. 

Long, long had he loved her — long vainly essay'd 
To lure from, her dwelling the coy ocean maid ; 
And long had he wondfir'd and watch'd by the tide. 
To fiht'"" the fkir spiiU O'&ullivan's Isdda 1 



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60 THE LOKD OF 

The maiden slie gazed on the creature of earth, 
Whose voice in hei breast to a feeling gave birth : 
Then smiled ; and abashed, as a maiden might be. 
Looking down, gently sank to hei home in the sea. 

Though gentle that smile, as the moonll^t above, 
O'Sullivan fdt 'twas the dawning of love. 
And hope came on hope, spreading over his mind. 
As the eddy of circles her wake left behind. 

The lord of Dunkerron he plunged in the waves, 
And sought, through the fierce rush of waters, 

their caves ; 
The gloom of whose depths, studded over with 

spars. 
Had the glitter of midnight when lit up hy stars. 

Who can tell or can fancy the treasures that deep 
Intombed in the wonderful womb of the deep f 
The pearls and the gems, as if valueless, thrown 
To lie 'mid the sea>wrack concealed and unknown. 

Hawn, down went the maid, — still the chieftain 

pursued; 
Who fiies must be followed ere she can be wooed. 
Untempted by treasures, unawed by alarms, 
Tlie maideS at length he has daspt in his arms I 



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THE LOBD OF StlNKEKKON. 61 

Thef rose from tlie deep by a smooth-ipreadiiig 

Whence beauty and verdure ctretch'd over the land. 
'Twas an isle of enchantmeat I and hghtl; the 

With a musical murmur, just crept through the 



The hase-woven shroud of that newly bom isle 
Softly faded awaj, from a magical pile, 
A palace of crystal, whose bri^t-beaming sheen 
Had the tints of the rainbow — red, yellow, and 
green. 

And grottoes, fantastic In hue and in form. 
Were there, as flung up — the wild sport ctfthe 

Vet all was so cloudless, so lovely, and calm. 
It seemed but a region of sunshine and balm. 

" Here, here shall we dwell in a dream of delight. 
Where the glories of earth and of ocean unite ! 
Yet, loved son of earth ! I must from thee away ; 
There are laws which e'en spirits are bound to 
obey! 

'' Once more must I visit the chief of my race. 
His sanction to gain ere I meet thy embrace. 



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6!l THE LDBB OF DDNKEBBOH. 

In a moment I dive to tbe dtambeis bene&th : 
One cause caa detain me— one only — ''tis death !" 

They parted in Borrow, with vows true and fimd j 
The language of prcnnise had nothing beyond. 
His soul flU on fire, with anxiety buma: 
The moment Is gone— hut no maiden retumc 

What loundsfixnn the deep meet his terrified ear-— 
What accents of rage and of grief does he hear ? 
What sees he ? what change has come over the 

flood— 
What tinges its green with a jetty of blood? 

Can he doubt what the gush of warm hlood would 

explain? 
That she lou^t the consent of her monarch in 

vain!— 
For see all around him, in white foam and ftotb, 
The waves erf* the ocean boil up is their wroth ! 

The palace of crystal has melted in air. 
And the dies of the rainbow no longer are there ; 
The grottoes with vapour and clouds are o'ercast. 
The sunshine is darkness— the vision has past ! 

Loud, loud was the call of his ser& for their chief; 
They sou^t him widi accents of wailing and grief ; 



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THS LOBD OF OUXXBIBON. 68 

He heard, and he struggled — a wave to the ahoMi 
Exhsiuted and bintj bean O'SuUivan More I 
JSnmare, 27th April, ISSfi. 



An attempt hu been made at throwing into the 
ballad font! one of the many talea told of the O'Snl- 
livan family to the writer, by an old boatman, with 
wtmn he waa becalmed an entire night in the Kou 
mate rirer, on hit return from a pilgrimage to the 
SkeUig Rocks. 

Grimm rdatea predielf the same legend 4rf tbtt 
Elbe maid, who, it appears, in rather an- unearthly 
fitthioB, nsed to come to the market at Magdeburg to 
bujr meet. A young butcher fell in love with her, 
and followed bR until he found whence ahe came and 
whither she retoroed. At last he went down into the 
water with her. They told a flsherman, who atdated 
them and waited for them on the bank, that if a 
wooden trencher with an apple on it should come up 
duou^ the water, all was well ; if not, it wai other* 
wise. Shortly aftor, a red tinak ahot up ; a proof 
that the bridegro)»n had not pleased the kindred ef 
die Elbe tnaid, and that they had put him to death. 
Another Tariation of this legend, and the one alluded 
to on account of its limilirity, relates that the maid 
went down alone, and her lover remained sitdng on 
the bank to wait her answer. She (dutiful girl) 



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64 THE LOB D OF DUMEESBOK. 

wished to get the coiuent of her parents to her mir- 
riage, or to commanicate the afikir to her brothen. 
However, instead of an answer, there only appeared 
a spot of blood upon the water, a aign that she had 
been put to death. 

Mr. Barry St. Leger'a tale of " the Nymph of the 
Lurley," in hia clever work, " Mr. Blount's MSS.," 
bears a stciUng reaeniblance to another tradition re< 
lated of the O'Sullivan family, and their struige in- 
tercoDTEe with the " apirics of the vasty deep;" par- 
ticularly in the cireumalance of the attempt at wound- 
ing the nieTniaiil,.Bnd the fate of the person making it. 

A well known Manx legend relates that a sea maiden 
once carried off a beautiful yoath, of whom she lie- 
came enamoured, to the Isle of Man, and conjured 
up a iniat around the island to prevent his escape; 
hence it has sometimes been called the Isle of Mists. 
Mermaid lore is an extremely common fiction, and 
tales founded on it are abundant, although they con- 
tain little variety of incident In the BaUadet el 
Chantt populaira de la Provence, lately published, 
there is a very pretty tale " of La Fie mx Cheraix 
Fcrf«," who en tices a fisherman to her palace beneath 
the aea. The amour, as is generally the case with 
fairy love, produces unhappy consequences. 

The Annab of the Four Maatera give us rather a 
gigantic idea of mermaids, although expressly men- 
tioning the delicacy and beauty of their akin. Ac- 
cording to ihis veritable record (which Irish historiana 
are so fond of quoting aa an authority) , Fontoppidon's 



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THE I«SD OF SdHIBRKON. 65 

Normy kmlcen ii not without t Mr etiatpu^aa; 
" A. D. 08T. A tnennUd of an eMmnoiu ilse mt 
cMt oo tbe nortb-CMt eont of ficotland by the let : 
her height wu 195 feet; her hair wu IS feet; her 
fingers 7 feet ; and hw now 7 feet : the w» til orer 
■a white aa « awui." 

For an account of Dunkcnon the reader ia referred 
to Smith's Hittory of Kerry, p. 88. The cattle liei 
sbout a mile below the town of Kenmare, on the weit 
side of the river. Its present remainB are part of a 
■qoare keep, and one dde of a caatellaled mantion, 
which probably adjoined the ]ceep, and was built at a 
miwe recent period. Tbe Rer. Mr. Godfrey kindly 
pdnted out to the writer two mdely sculptured atone*, 
which bad been removed from Dunkerron cattle and 
placed in the boat-honse at Lauadown lodge. One of 
these bears the following inscription : 



MAC CABTI BIBOGH. 

The Olhet, the (VSulliTan anna, in which a barbarout 
attempt to expresa the figure of a mermaid ia evident 
above the " Maniu Snllivanie." 
In alluaion to tbe galley which appean on the shield, 

PAST II. F 



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96 THE LOBD OF DUMEEBSOV. 

it may be mentioned that a fkfourite name of the 
O'BuIUtbiu is Morty or iixutj (correctly written 
Muireheartaeh or Muircheardack), which literally 
means " expert at aea," or an able navigator. Mur- 
rough, a common Christian name of theO'BrienB,«ig- 
nities " the sea boand." Murph;, Murley, &c. have, 
doubtless a marine origin. 



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THE WONDERFUL TUNE. 

Mauricb Connor was the king, and that 's 
Qo small word, of all the pipers in Munater. He 
could play jig and ^danxty without end, and Ollis- 
trum's Marchj and the Eagle's Whistle, and the 
Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of every sort and 
kind. But he knew one, far more surprising than 
the rest, which had in it the power to set every 
thing deed or alive dancing. 

In what way he learned it is beyond my know- 
ledge, for he was mighty cautious about telling 
how he came by so wonderful a tune. At the 
very first note of that tune, the brogues b^n 
shaking upon the feet of all who heard it— old or 
young, it mattered not — just as if their Ivoguei 
had the ague ; then the feet b^an going — going 
— going from under them, and at last up and 
away with them, dandng like mad! — whisking 
here, there, and every where, like a straw in a 
storm — there was no halting while the music 
lasted! 

Not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a patmu is 
v2 



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68 THS WONDERFUL XOHE. 

the seren porisbefl round, was counted worth the 
speaking of without "blind Maurice and his pipes." 
His mother, poor woman, used to lead him about 
from one place to another, just like a dog. 

Down through Iveragh— a place that ought to 
be proud of itself, for 'tis Daniel OTonnel's coun- 
try — Maurice Connor and his mother were taking 
their rounds. Beyond all other places Iveragh is 
the place for stormy coast and steep mountains ; 
as proper a spot it is as any in Ireland to get your- 
self drowned, or your neck broken on the land, 
should you prefer that. But, notwithstanding, 
in Ballin^ellig bay ^ere is a neat bit of ground, 
well fitted tm diversion, and down from it, to- 
wards the water, is a clean smooth piece of strand 
— the dead image d a calm summer's sea on a 
moonlight ni^t, with just the curl of the small 
waves upon it. 

Here it was that Maurice's music had bron^t 
frtnn all parts a great gathering of the young men 
and the ' young women — O the darlints ! — toi 
'twas not every day the strand of Trafraska was 
stirred up by the voice of a bagjrfpe. Thedance 
began ; and us pfetty a rinksfedda ft was as ever 
was danced. " Brave music," said every body, 
"and well done," when Maurice sto^>ed. 

" More power to your elbow, Maurice, and a 
fair wind in the bellows," cried Faddy Dorman, 



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THK. WOMDXRFUL TDHB. 69 

a hump-backed danciiig-mBSter, who wes there to 
keep order. " 'Tia a pity," said he, " if we 'd let 
ihe piper run dry after such muaic ; 't would be a 
disgrace tp Iveragh, that didn't come on it linoe 
the week of the three Sundays." 80, ai well be- 
came him, for he was always a decent man, nyi 
he : " Did you drink, piper f" 

"Z will, piTi'sayv Maurice, answering the quet- 
ticm on the safe side, tar you never yet knew piper 
or sdioolmaater who refused his drink. 

" What will you dripk, Maurice ?" says Paddy. 

" I 'm no ways particular," says Maurice ; "1 
drink any thing, and give God tbEUtks, Inning 
ratf water : but if 'tis all the same to you, mlitei 
Donnaa, may be you wouldn't lend me the loan 
of a glass of whiskey." 

" I 've no glass, Maurice," said Paddy ; " I 't« 
only the bottle." 

" Let that be no hindranioe," aaiWBMd Maurice ; 
" my mouth just holds a.glass to the doop ; often 
1 've tried it, sure." 

So Pad^ I>oEman> trusted faiia> with tJie bottle 
rrrBUtra fool was he;. and, to, bis cost, he found 
that thfflighMaunce's mouth juight not h^ mom 
than the glass at one time, yet, owing to the hole 
in his throat, it todc many a filling. 

"That was nobad. whiskey neitheiv'.' saysMaU" 
zioe, TnnMling back'tha empty bottle. 



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70 THE TONUEKFDL TONE. 

" By the holy frost, then f says Paddy, " 'tis 
but could comfort there 'a in that botde now ; and 
'tis your word we must take for the strength of 
the whiskey, for you 've left; us no sample to judge 
fay :" and to be sure Maurice had not. 

Now I need not tell any gentleman or lady 
with common understanding, that if he or she was 
to drink an honest bottle of whiskey at one pull, 
it is not at all the same thing as drinking a bottle 
of water ; and in the whole course of my life, I 
□ever knew more than five men who could do bo 
without being overtaken by the liquor. Of these 
Maurice Connor was not one, though he had a 
stiff head enou^ of his own — ^he was &irly tipsy. 
Don't think I Uame him fta it ; 'tis often a good 
man's case ; but true is the wind that says, " whei 
liquor 's in sense is out ;" and puff, at a breath, 
before you could say " Lord, save us !" out he 
Idasted his wonderful tune. 

'Twas really then beyond all belief or telling 
the dancing. Maurice himself could not keep 
quiet ; staf^ering now on one leg, now on the 
other, and rolling about like a ship in a cross aea, 
trying to humour the tune. There was his mother 
too, moving her old bones as li^t as the youngest 
girl of them all; but her dandng, no, nor the 
dandi^ of all the rest, is not worthy the speaking 
•bout to the work that was going on dowa upon 



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THE VONSE&FDt TDME. 71 

the stnnd. Ererjr inch of It covered with «11 
manner of fish jumping and plunging about to the 
music, and every moment more and mora would 
tumble in out of the water, charmed by the won- 
derful tune. Crahs of monstrous sise spun round 
and round on one claw with the nimhienen of a 
dancing-master, and twiried and tossed their other 
claws about like limbs that did not belong to them. 
It was a sight surprising to behold. But perhaps 
you may have heard of father Florence Conry, a 
Frasciscan &iar, and a great Irish poet j bolg an 
ddma, as they used to call him — a wallet of poems. 
If you have not, he was as pleasant a man as one 
would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day ; 
and he has rhymed out all about the dancing fishes 
K> neatly, that it would be a thousand pities not 
to give you his verses ; so here 's my hand at an 
upset of them into English : 

The big seals in motion. 
Like waves of the ocean. 

Or gouty feet prancing. 
Came heading the gay fish. 
Crabs, lobsters, and cray fish. 

Determined on dancing. 

The sweet sounds they follow'd. 
The gnqiing cod swallow'd ; 
'Twaa wonderful, really t 



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And Wrbotind, flounder, 
'Mid fiflb tbat. were Touudeo', 
Just oaper'd as gaUy. 

^oho-dOTiet came triiqnDg ; 

OuU bttke bjr their ikipping 

To &uk.itseem'd given; 



i went Infringing, 
Idia small, rainbowH winging 
Their flight up to heaven. 

The whiting snd haddock 
LeA aalt water paddock 

Tfata dance to be put in : 
Where data, with flat ftcea 
■ -Edged:out some odd jdaices; 
But soles lept theii footing. 

Sprats end herring in powers 
Of silvery showers 

All number out-number'd. 
And great ling so lengthy 
Were there in such plenty 

The shore was enouniber*d. 

The scollop and letter 
Their twojieU, did roteter, 
LikaowtMieB attingj 



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IHS WONSESrCL TOHE. 73 

WLile Ihnpeds movad dearly, 
Aai rocks rery nearly 

With, laughter were splitting. 

Never was such an uUabuUoo in this world, be* 
fore or since ; 'twas as if hearen and earth were 
coming tt^ther ; and all out of Maurice Con- 
nor's wonderful tune ! 

In the height of all these doings, whst should 
there be dancing among the outlandish set of fishei 
bat a heautifiil young woman-^as beautiful as the 
dawn of day ! She had a cocked hat upon her 
he«d; from under it her long green hair — just 
the colour of the sea— fell down behind, without 
hinderance to her dancing. Her teeth were lik« 
rows of pearl ; her lips for all the world looked 
like red coral ; and she had an elegant gown, as 
white as the foam -of the wave, with little rows of 
purple and red sea weeds settled out upon it; for 
you never yet saw a lady, under the water or over 
the water, w])o had not a good notirai of dressing 
herself out. 

Up she danced' at last to -Maurice, who was 
flinging his feetirom und^ him as &st as bops — 
fw nothing in this world could keep still while 
that' tune 4if' hia was going on — and says she to 
him, (Jvwntiiig it- out with a voice as -sweet as 
honey — 



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71 THE WONSBSVTTL TUNK. 

" I 'm a lady of lionour 

Who live in the sea ; 
Gome down, Maurice Connor, 

And be married to me. 
Silver platea and gold disb^ 

You shall have, and shall be 
The king of the fishes. 

When you 're married to me." 

Drink was strong in Maurice's head, and out he 
chaunted in return for her great civility. It is 
not every lady, may be, that would be after making 
such an oKr to a blind piper ; therefore 'twai 
only right in him to give her as good as she gave 
herself — so says Maurice, 

'* I 'm oMiged to you, TmulnTn ; 

Off a gold dish or plate, 
If a king, and I had 'em, 

I could dine in great state. 
With your own father's daughter 

I 'd be sure to agree ; 
But to drink the salt water 

Wouldn't do so with me ! 

The lady looked at him quite amazed, and. Bwing- 
ing her head &oni side to side like a great scholar 



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THE WONDERFUL TUNE. 75 

" Well," says she, " Maorice, if you 're not a poet, 
where is poetry to be found i" 

In this way they kept on at it, franung big^ 
compliments ; one answering the other, and their 
feet going with the music as fast as their tongues. 
All the fish kept dancing too : Maurice heard the 
clatter and was eiraid to stop playing lest it mig^t 
be displeasing to the fish, and not knowing what 
so many of them may take it into their heads to 
do to him if they got vexed. 

Well, the lady with the green hair kq)t on 
coaxing of Mautice with soft speeches, till at last 
she overpersuaded him to promise to marry her, 
and be hing over the fishes, great and small. 
Maurice was well fitted to be their king, if they 
wanted one that could make them dance ; and he 
surely would drink, barring the ult water, with 
any fish of them all. 

When Maurice's mother saw him, with that 
unnatural thing in the fonn of a green-haired 
lady as his guide, and he and she dancing down 
together so lovingly to the water's edge, through 
the thick of the fishes, she called out afler him to 
stop and come bock. " Oh then," says she, " as 
if I was not widow enough before, there he ft 
going away from me to be married to that scaly 
woman. And who knows but 'ds grandmother I 



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76 THE WONDERFUL TUNS. 

may be U> a .hale or a cod — liord hel^ and pity 
me, but 'tis a mighty unnatural tbing ! — and may 
be 'tis boiling and eating my own grandchild I 'U 
bcj with a bit of salt butter, and I not knowing 
it! — Oh Maurice, Maurice, if there's any lore 
or nature left in you, come back to your own ould 
mother, who reared you like a decent christian !" 

Then the poor woman began to cry and ulla- 
goane bo finely that it would do any one good to 
hear her. 

Mauiice was not long getting to the rim of the 
waterj there he kept jdaying and dancing on a> 
if nothing was the matter, and a great thundering 
wave coming in towards him ready to swallow 
him up alive ; but as he could not see it, he did 
not fear it. His mother it was who saw it plainly 
through the big tears that were rolling down her 
cheeks ; and though she saw it, and her heart was 
aching as much as ever mother's heart ached for a 
atm, she kept dancing, dancing, all the time for 
the bare life of Iier. Certain it was she could not 
help it, for Maurice never stopped playing that 
wcmderful tune of his. 

He only turned the bothered ear to the sound 
oS his mother's vtnce, fearing it mij^t put him 
out in his iteps, and all the answer he made back 

" Whisht with you, mother — sure I 'm going 



I i 



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THE WOMDERFUL TCNE. 77 

to be king over the'fishei down jd the sea, snd 
foi a token of luck, and a sign that I 'm aliv« and 
well, 1 11 send you in, every twelTcmonth on this 
day, a piece of burned wood to Tra&agka." Mau- 
rice had not the power to say a word more, for 
the strange lady with the green hair seeing the 
wave just upon them, covered him up with her- 
self in a thing like a cloak with a big hood to it, 
and the ware curling over twice as high as their 
heads, burst upon the strand, with a rush and a 
roar that-might be heard as far as Cape Clear.' 

That day -twelvemonth the piece of bUrned 
wood came ashore in Trafraska. It was a queer 
thing for Maurice to think of sending all the way 
from the bottom of the sea. A gown or a pair of 
shoes would have been something lite a present 
for his poor mother; but he had said it, and he 
kept his word. The bit of burned wood regularly 
came ashore on the appointed day for as good, 
ay, and better than a hundred years. The day 
is now forgotten, and may be that is the reason * 
why people say how Maurice Connor has stopped 
sending the luck-token to his mother. Poor wo- 
man, she did not live to get as much as one of 
them ; for what through the loss of Maurice, and . 
the fear of eating her own grandchildren, she died 
in three weeks after the dance — some say it was 
the fatigue that killed her, but whichever it 

t 



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78 THE WONDERFUL TUNBi 

was, Mte. Connor wu decently buried with her 
0wn people. 

Seafaring people hare often heard, off the coast 
<d Kerry, on a still night, the sound of music 
coming up irom the water; and some, who hare 
had good ears, could plainly distinguish Maurice 
Connor's roice singing these words to his ppes :— 

Beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand. 
Thy ciystal water, and diamond sand ; 
Nerer would I hare parted from thee 
But for the sake of my fair ladle. 



The wonderful effbcta of moac on brutes, and even 
inanimate matter, hare been the theme of traditions 
in all ages. Trees and rocks gare ear to the tones of 
the Orphean lyre ; the sUioes of Thebes ranged them- 
ielres in barmony to the strains of Ampbion ; the 
dolphin, delighted by the music of Arion, bore him 
in safety through the seas ■ even 

" Rode Heiskar's seal through surges dark. 
Will long pursue the minBlrel's bark." 

Lord of the Iilei, c. i,tt. S. 
The talcB of Germany, and other countries, contain 
instances of magically endowed tunes. The eS^ of 
Oberon's horn is now well known in this country 



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THE TOHDEBFUL TU)IE. 79 

thnm^ Webei'i open, and Mr. Sothebj*! degint 
tnniUtion of Wielsnd'i poem. 

In Hogg*! bdlad of the Witch of Fife, the pipe erf 
the " Wee wee man" mokes 

" — the troutii laup out of the Le?en Loch 
Channit with the melodye." 
And ai to " fish out of water" feeling uncomfortable, 
Iriih fish are laid occarioually to prefer dry land. Fot 
this, if the huignage of nature be that of tnith> we 
have DO leas an authority than Mr. Joseph Cooper 
Walker, the hiBtorian of the Iiiah barda, and a distin- 
guished writer on matters of taste. 

" Mr. (XHaDoiaD informs me," says Mr> Walker, 
" that there b preserved in the Leabher Lecan, or 
Book of Sligo, a beautiful poem on the storm that 
arose on the second landing of the MilesiaDB, which 
u attributed to Amei^. In this poem there appears 
a boldness of metaphn' which a cold critic would de- 
spise, because it offends against the rules of Aristotle, 
though the Stagyrite was not then bom : however, it 
it the laagvage ofNaiure ! The author, in order to 
heighten the horrors of the storm, represents the fish 
as being so much terrifleil, that they quit their ele- 
ment for dry land:— 

JtjfeAC flnift) idoIIac SjI" ; 

Re c*i6 0* J^Aiitce jtoAb; 
(t*r &iit /iW)," &c. 



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80 THE WONDEBFUL TUKB. 

The odd tunes mentioned as being known to Man- 
rice Connor are great favourites in Ireland. " The 
Eagle's Whistle" is a mngolarl; wild strain, 'which 
was a march or war-tune of the O'Donogfanes, and !a 
not to be met with in print " The Hena' CoDG«rt" 
luu been published in O'Farrell's Companion for the 
Pipes, and is a melodious imitation of tbe iac'tue-ii- 
tw-ioo of tbe bam-door gentry. " Ollistrum's March" 
may be fonnd in Reeearches in thi South of Ireland, 
p. 116. 

The Binka fada is a national dance mentioned in a 
note in Ibe tale of " Master and Man," in tlie pre- 
ceding volume. It is said to mean " the long dance," 
from the Irish words Rinceadth, * dance, Mid fada, 
long. In Ben Jonson'a Irish Masque, the vioiAsfading 
and Jiiders occur ; on the former Mr. GiSbrd ob- 
serves: " This word, which was the burthen of a 
popular Irish song, gave name to a dance frequently 
mentioned by our old dranatiiia. Both the song and 
the dance appear to have been of a licennons character, 
and merit no further elucidation." NotwithstaQding 
the high critical reputation of the late editor of the 
Quarterly, the writer, in justice to bis country, must 
state his ^oranceof any such Irish song as that men- 
tioned by Mr. Gifibrd ; although, from tbe attention 
which he has paid to the sutgect, and bis personal 
intercourse with the peasantry, it could hardly hare 
escaped his acquaintance. He has frequently wit- 
nesaed the Rinka fada perfcmned, but baa never ob- 
served the really graceful movements of that dance to 
partake of licentiousness. The mere explanation, that 



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THE WONSKKFUL TDHE. 81 

Feaddn ia the Iriih for b inpe orreed, and Ftadanaek, 
a ^per. appears u> be all (be comment which the pass- 
age in "rare Ben" re^nirM, But Mr. GiSiwd wu 
fbnd of roluoteering Incorrect infoTmatioii respecting 
Iieluid : witness bii note on " Harper," which occun 
in the Maaqne of the MetamnphoBOl Gipsies, and 
where a reference ta Oman's woric on Coins would 
have prevented a s^es of inaccuracies uncalled for by 
the text 

" When liquor 'b in, the wit is out," — a common 
Irish Mf ing ; resemhles the old legend still to be seen 
over the ceUar-door of DodderBholl Park, Bucks, the 
venerable seat of colonel PigotI, where it was put up 
about the dme of Elizabeth : 

" Wmtmat, mp f reinBe, Brinitc toitb a n«blc ^cartt, 
Vnt ;tt, btfort ^ Ditnfct tso nut^, ncpartt : 
Sm ^mtg:^ g«oD >Tinfct loiH nuke a cotoaro stout, 
£ct b)I)cn tao nutcfi ij) Ln tfir t«U i« cmt" 

Father Conrjr's poem respecting the dancing fish 
ii freely tranalated tVom the Irish. The concluding 
vene of the tale, which, it is said, Maurice Connor 
has been heard singing under the water, is almost a 
literal translation of the following r«nn from the long 
ofDesnlia: 

Joi)ii)uij CTi*i5iu, ir CTtfe*i> cftAJS, 
Joiwijai) Mfse ai? 3*ii?iitj sIajU ; 

atoCA bClOCflTOIJ Alfbft OX) OIPj 



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82 THE WONDERFUL JOSE. 

Speciiiiens of thii 1>eaiitifdl poem have been pven . 
by Dr. Neilion in his Irish grunmar (Dublin, 1808J, 
to which the roadet ii referred. < 

Maurice i» aaid to have tunted " the bothered ear" 
to hia molher. Thia Hibemo AnKlicion ii exactlj- 
the aame as the Eogliah phraae " turning the deaf 
ear;" deaf being, in the Ibemo Celtic, Bddhar. The 
word bother, indeed, appears to have in some degree 
become naturalized in England : 

" Kitt; Clover, she bothers me so, &c." 

Smith, in his Hiatory of Kerr; (p. lOS), thui de- 
Bcribea the scene of the dance at Trafraaka :— *" Near 
the mouth of the riv^ Inny there is a fine enteuuve 
strand, which I mention becauae it is almost the only 
amoolh place that a person niight venture to put an 
horaelogallopformany milesroundit. It is esteemed 
also a rarity, all the cliffi of the coast being exceeding 
high, and washed by the ocean at low water." 



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FAIRY LEGENDS. 

THE DULLAHAN. 



' " Men trhose heidi 
Do groir batttlh thdr tboaUaa." 

Sbaksfeabe. 
" Saf* the tnir, 'di Hnuige headlea bonea ihould uot.' 
Old So ho. 



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THE DULLAHAN. 



THE GOOD WOMAN. 

In a pleasant and not luqnctureique valley of 
Uie White Knight's Country, at the foot of the 
Galtee mountauui, lived Idtiy Dodd aod hii wife 
Nancy. They rented a cabin and a few werta of 
land, which they cultivated with great caret and 
its crops rewarded tibeii industry. They were 
independent and reapectod by their nei^boun; 
they loved each other in a narriageaUe sort of 
way, and few couplee had altogether mon the 
^pearanee of comfort about them. 

Larty was a haid wndingi and, oacaaionally, a 
hard dtinkingj Dut^^-built, little man, with a 
fiddle head and a round stam; a steady-^oing 
straight-forward fellow, barrii^ what be carriad 
loo much whisky, wbii^, it nuut bo confeswd, 
m^jht occasionally prevent hja wattjug the chalked 



86 THE GOOD WOMAN. 

' line with perfect ptuloniatlucal accuracy. He had 
a moist ruddy countenance, rather inclined to an 
expr^sion of gravity, and particularly so in the 
morning J but, taken all together, he was gene- 
rally looked upon as a marveUouily proper person, 
notwithstanding he had, every day in the year, a. 
sort of unholy dew upon his face, even in the 
coldest weather, which gave rise to a supposition, 
(amongst cenBorious persons, of course), that Larry 
was apt to indulge in strong and frequent pota- 
tions. However, all men of talents have their 
faults — indeed, who is without them — and as 
Larry, setting aside his domestic virtues and skill 
in fanning, wea decidedly the most distinguished 
breaker of hones for forty miles round, he must 
be in some degree excused, ninsidering the induce- 
ments o£ " the stirrup cup," and the fox-hunting 
society in which he mixed, if he had also been the 
greatest drunkard in the county — but in truth 
this was not the case. 

Larry was a man of mixed hahits, as well in 
his mode of life and his drink, as in his costume. 
His dress acctnded well with his character^ a sort 
of half-and-half between farmer and horse-jockey. 
He wore a blue coat of coarse cloth, with short 
skirts, and a stand-up collar; his waistcoat was 
red, and hk lower habiliments were made of lea- 
ther, which In course of time had shrunk so much 



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THE GOOD TOMAN. BT 

that they fitted like a second skin, and long use 
had ahaorbed theft moirture to such a degree that 
they made a strange sort of crackling noise as he 
walked along. A hat covered with oil skin; « 
cutting-whip, all worn and ja^ed at the end; a 
pair of second-hand, or, to speak more correctljr, 
seoond-footed, greasj tap-boots, that seemed never 
to have imhilied a re&eshing draught of Warren's 
Uackiug of matchless lustre .' — and one spur with- 
out a rowd, completed the every-day dress of 
LanyDodd. 

Thus equipped was Larry returning from Cashel, 
mounted on a rou^-coated and wall-eyed nag, 
though, notwithstanding these and a few other 
trifiing blemishes, a well-built' animal ; having 
just purchased the said nag, with a Ancy that he 
oould make his own money again c^ his bai^ni 
and, maybe, turn an odd penny mive by it at the 
ensuing Kildorreiy fair. Well pleased with him- 
self, he trotted fail and easy altmgthe road in the 
delicious and lingering twilight of a lovely June 
evening, thinking of nothing at all, only whistling, 
and wondering would horses always be so low. 
" If they go at this rate," said he to himself, " for 
half nothing, and that paid in butter buyer's notes, 
who would be the fool to walk?" This very 
thought, indeed, was passing in his mind, when his 
attention was roused by a woman padng quickly 



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SB THE GOOD WOMAK. 

hy dw aide of his hone, aad huny&ig on, m if 
endeftTOUiIng to reach her deBtmatian before the 
night closed in. Her fignrc, onuidering the Itmg 
atrideB she took, appeared to he under the common 
size — rather of the dumpy tnder; but ^rther, as 
to whether the damsel was young or dd, fair or 
brown, pretty or ugly, Lairy could form no ^o- 
cise notion, from her wearing a lai^ cloak (the 
uBual garb c^ the female Irish peasant), the hood 
of which was turned up, and oompletely concealed 
every feature. 

Envek^)ed in Hua mass of dark and concealing 
drqiery, the strange woman, without much exes' 
tioa, contrived to keep up with Laity Dodd's stead 
for some time, when his mastn' very civilly of^nd 
her a lift belUnd him, as far as he was going.bet 
way, " Civility begets civility," they say ; . how- 
ever, he received no answer ; and thinking that the 
lady's silence proceeded only from bashfulness, like 
a man of true gallon try, not a word more saidLarry, 
until he pulled up by the side of a gap, and then 
says he, " Ma colleen beg*, just jump up behind 
me, without a word more, though sever a one 
have you spok^ and I 'U take you safe and sound 
through the loaetome hit of rood that is before us." 

She jumped at the trffer, sure enough, and up 

•MyKideBM, 



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TBE GOOD WOHAK. 89 

witii her on the hack of tlie hone as li^it aa a 
feather. In an inBtant then she was Kated up 
behind Lan;, with her hand and aim buckled 
round his waist holding on. 

" I hope you 're oomfoitable there, my dear^'' 
t^d Larry, in hia own good-humoured way ; bi4t 
there was no answer; and on they went — trot, 
trot, trot — along the road; and all was ao still 
and 80 quiet that you might have beard the Round 
of the hoofi on the limestone a mile off: for that 
matter there was nothing else to hear except the 
mooning of a distant stream, that lept up a con" 
tinued croaane', like a nurse hiukotMg. I^rry, 
who had a keen eat, did not however require so 
profound a silence to detect the click of one of the 
shoes. " 'Tis only loose the shoe is," said he to 
his companion, as they were just entering on the 
lonesome hit of road of which he had before spoken. 
Some old trees, with huge trunks, all covered, and 
irregular branches festooned with ivy, grew over 
a dark pool of water, which had been formed as 
a drinking-place toi cattle ; and in the distanee 
was seen the mf^eitic head of Galtee-more- Heie 
the horse, as if in grateful recognition, made a 
dead halt ; and Larry, not knowing what vicious ' 
tricks bis new purchase might have, and .unwilling 

* A motuitoaoaf toog ; > diomy bumming noiu. 



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90 THE GOOD WOMAN. 

that through any odd chance the young woman 
should get tpiit in the water, dinnounted, thinking 
to lead the horse quietly by the pool. 

" By the piper's luck, that always found what 
he wanted," said Larry, recollecting himself, "I've 
a nail in my pocket : 'tis not the first time I 've 
put on a shoe, and may be it wo'n't be the last ; 
for here is no want of peTing-stones to make ham- 
mers in plenty." 

No sooner was Larry off than off with a spring 
came the young wtmian just at his side. Her feet 
touched the ground without making the least noise 
in life, and away she bounded like an ill-man- 
nered wench, a» she was, without saying " by yOur 
leave," or no matter what else. She seemed to 
glide rather than run, not along the road, but 
across a field, up towards the old ivy-covered walls 
<^ Kilnaalattery church — and a pretty church, it 

" Not so fast, if you please, young woman — 
not so &st," cried Larry, calling after her ; hut 
away she ran, and Larry followed, his leathern 
-garment, already described, crack, crick, crackling 
at every step he took. " Where 's my wages ?" 
said Latiy : " Thorum pog, ma coUeen oge *, — 
sure I 've earned a kiss &om your pair of pretty 

* aire me • kiss, my yaoBg gtiL 



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THE GOOD WOMAN. 91 

lips— and 111 have it too !" But the went on 
luter and faatei, regordleu of these and othci 
flattering apeeehes from her pursuer ; at last the 
came to the churchyard wall, and then orei with 
lier in an instant. 

" Well, she 'b a mighty smart creature anyhow. 
To be sure, how neat ihe steps upon her paatenu ! 
Did any one eTei see the like of that before ;— 
but 111 not be baulked by any woman that ever 
wore a head, or any ditch either," esdaimed Larry, 
BS with a desperate bound be vaulted, scrambled, 
and tumbled over the wall into the churchyard. 
Up he got from the elastic sod of a newly made 
glare in which Tade Leary that morning was 
buried — rest his soul i — and on went Larry, Btum- 
Uing over head-stones and foot-stonei, over old 
graves and new graves, pieces of coffins, and the 
skulls and bones of dead men — the Lord nave us ! 
— that were scattered about there as plenty as 
paving'Stones ; floundering amidst great over- 
grown dock-leaves and brambles that, with their 
hmg prickly arms, tangled round his limbs, and 
held him back with a fearful grasp. Mean time 
the merry wench in the doak moved through all 
these obstructions as evenly and as gaily as if the 
churchyard, crowded up as it was with graves 
and gravestones (for people came to be buried 
there tnm iar and near), had been the floor of a 



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93 THE QOOD WOHAIf. 

dandn^Toom. Round and round the waUs oT 
the old chinch she went. " 1 11 just wait," said 
Lany, seeing this; and thinking it all nothing but 
a trick to frighten him ; " when she comes round 
again, if I don't take the kiss, I won't, that 'a all, 
—and here she is !" Larry Dodd sprung forwafd 
with open aims, and clasped is them — a woman, 
it is uuo—jnit a woman without uij lips to kiss, 
by reason of her having no head ! 

" Munter !" cried ho. " Well, that accounts 
for her not speaking." Having uttered these 
words, Larry himmlf became dumb with fear and 
astonishment ; his blood seemed turned to ice, and 
a ^zinesB came over hiTn ; and, staggering like 
a drunken man, he rolled against the bn^en win- 
dow of the ruin, horrified at the conviction that 
he had actually held a DuUahan in his embrace I 

When he recovered to something like a feeling <tf 
consdousness, he slowly opened his eyes, and then, 
indeed, a scene of wonder burst upon him. In the 
midst of the ruin stood an old wheel of torture^ 
ornamented with heads, like Cork gaol, when the 
heads of Murty Sullivan and other gentlemen were 
stuck upon it. This was pl^nly visible in the 
strange light which spread itself around. It was 
fearful to behold, but Larry could not choose but 
lo^, for his limbs were powerless throu^ the 
wonder and the fear. Useless as it was, he would 



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THE GOOD WOMAN. 63 

hsre called for Iietp, but his tongue cleaved to the 
roof of his mouth, and not one word could he say. 
In short, there was Larry gazing through a shat- 
tered window of the old church, with eyes bleared 
■ad almoM starting from their socket* ; his breast 
rested on the thickness of the wall. Over whidi, 
on one side, his head and outstretched neck pn^ 
jacted, and on the other, although one toe toucJied 
the ground, it derived no support from thence : 
terror, as it were, kept him balanced. Strange 
noises assailed his ears, until at last they tingled 
painfully to the sharp clatter of little bells which 
kept up a continued ding — ding — diDg--ding; 
maiTOwleM booes rattled and clanked, and the 
deep and solemn sound of a great bell came boom- 
ing cm the night wind. 

'Twas a spectre rung 
That hell when it swung — 

Bwing-Bwang I 
. . And the chain it squeaked. 

And the pulley creaked, 

Swing-swang ! 

And with every roll 

Of the deep death tdl 

Ding-dong [ 



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94> THE GOOD WOMAN, 

The liollcnT vault rang 
As the clapper went hang, 
Ding-dong I 

It was strange music to dance hy ; neverthelew, 
moving to it, round and round the wheel Bet with 
ikuUs, were well dressed ladies and gentlemen, 
and soldiers and sailors, and priests and publicani, 
and jockeys and Jennys, but all without th^ 
heads. Some poor skeletons, whose bleached bones 
were ill covered by moth*eaten palls, and who 
were not admitted into the ring, amused them- 
selves by howling tbeir brainless noddles at' one 
another, which seemed to enjoy the sp^ beyond 
measure. 

J^arry did not know what to think ; his brains 
were all in a mist, and losing the balance which 
he had so long maintained, he fell headforemost 
into the midst of the company of Dullahans. 

" I 'm done for and lost for ever," roared Larry, 
with his heels turned towards the stats, and souse 
down he came. 

" Welcome, Lany Dodd, welcome," cried every 
head, bobbing up and down in the air. " A drink 
for Larry Dodd," shouted they, as with one voice, 
that quavered like a shake on the bagpipes. No 
sooner said than done, for a player at heads. 



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THE GOOD WOMAN. 95 

c&tcliing hia own as it wu bowled st him, 6it 
fear of its going Astiay , junq>ed up, put tlie Itead, 
witliout a word, under his left arm, and, with the 
right stretclied out, presented a brimming cup to 
Lany, who, to show his manners, drank it off like 

" 'Tis capital stuff," he would have said, which 
lurelj it was, but be got no further than cap, 
when decapitated was be, and his head began 
dandng^ OTer his shoulders like those of the ren 
of the party. Larry, however, was not the first 
man who lost his head through the temptation of 
looking at the bottom of a brimming cup. No- 
thing more did he remember clearly, for it seems 
body and head being parted is not very favourable 
to thought, but a great hurry scuiry with the ooiie 
of carriages and the cracking of whips. 

When his Senses returned, his. first act was to 
put up his hand to where his head formerly grew, 
■nd to his great joy there he found it stilL He 
then shook it gently, hut his head remained firm 
enou^, and somewhat assured at this, he pro- 
ceeded to open his eyes and loc^ around him. It 
was Iffoad daylight, and in the old church of Kil- 
nasUttery he found himself lying, with that head, 
the loss o! whidi he had anticipated, quietly rest- 
ing, poor youth, " upon the lap of earth." Could 
it have been an ugly dream P " Oh no," said Larryi 



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96 THE GOOD WOHAM. 

" a dream could never have brought me here, 
stretched on the flat of my back, with thst death's 
head and cnng marrow bones forenenting me on 
the fine old tomlwtone there that was faced bj 
Pat Kearney* of Kilcrea — -but where is the htme?" 
He got up slowly, every joint aching with pain 
from the bruises he had received, and went to 
the pool of water, but no horse was there. " 'Tis 
home I must go," said Larry, with a rueful coun- 
tenance j " but how will I feoe Nancy ? — what 
will I tell her about the hrase, and the seven 
I. O. U.'s that he cost me? — 'Tis them Dullahant 
that have made their own of him from me — the 
hotMStealing robbers of the world, that have no 
&ar of the gallows ! — but what 's gone is gone, 
that 'b a clear case !" — so saying, he turned his 
steps homewards, and arrived at his cabin about 
noon wiUtout encountering any further adven- 
tures. There he found Nancy, who, as he ex- 
pected, looked as black as a thundracloud at him 
for being out all ni^. She listened to the mar- 
veilous relation which be gave with exclamations 
of astonishment, and when he bad concluded, of 
grief, at the loss of the hmrse that he had paid 
for like an honest man in I. 0. U.'s, three of 
which she knew to be as good as gold. 

* fated, ao writUo bf ±e Chmti^ of Eilaea fix "ficU." 
t 



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THE GOOD WOMAN. 97 

" But whftt look you up to the old cliurdi at 
all, out of the road, and at that time of the night, 
LuTj ?" inquired his wife. 

Lany lodced like a criminal for whom then 
wu Qo repriere; he scratched hit head for an 
excuse, but not one could he mmter up, so he 
knew not what tJi say. 

" Oh ! Larry, Larry," muttered Nancy, after 
waiting scone time for his answer, her jealous 
fears during the pause rising like barm ; " 'tit 
the very same way with you as with any other 
man — you aie all alike for that matter — I 've so 
pity for you—but, eonfeM the truth !" 

Larry shuddered at the tempest which he per> 
ceived was about to break upon his devoted head. 
" Nancy," said he, " I do confess ; — it was a young 

' woman without any head that " 

His wife heard no more. " A woman I knew 
it was," cried she ; " but a woman without a head, 
Lany I — well, it is long before Nancy Oollagher 
ever thought it would come to that with her ! — 
that she would be lefl dissolute and alone here by 
her hatte of a husband, for a woman without a 
head ! — O father, father ! and O mother, mother ! 
it is well you are low to-day ! — that you don't see 
this tdSiction and disgrace to your daughter that 
you reared decent and tender. O Larry, you vil- 

FABT II. H 



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98 TRB GOOD WOHAH. 

Itan, jaa '11 be the death of y out lawAil wife going 
after such O— O— O— " 

" Well," says Larry, putting his hands in his 
coat-pockets, " least aaid ia sooneit mended. Of 
the young woman I know no more than I do of 
Moll Flanders ; but this I know, that a woman 
without a head may well be cdled a Good Woman, 
because she has no tongue I" 

How thir remark operated on the matrimonial 
dispute history does not inform us. It is, how- 
ever, reported that the lady had the last word. 



Mr. O'Bdlly, author of the best Inih Dictionary 
extant, reipecting the name Dollahan thus expresses 
himself in a communication to the writer. 

" Dulachan (in Irish Dubhlachan) signifies a dark, 
sullen person. The word Durrachan, or Dullahsn, 
by which in some places the goblin is knoini, has 
the same signification. It comes from Dorr, or Durr, 
anger, or Durrach, malicious, fierce, &c." The cor- 
rectness of this last etymology m^ be questioned, as 
Dttbk, black, ia evidently a component part of the 
word. 

' HeadleBBpeopIearenotpeculiaitolTeIand,aIthongh 
:here alone they seem to have a peculiar name. Le- 
gends respecting them are to be found in most conn- 



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t ! 



b, Google 



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THE GOOD VOHAH. 99 

triea. It cannol be ucerted thtt the uideiils lud 
aa; idea of people appearing after death without 
heads, bat the; firmly believed that whole nationa 
eoDtrived to lire without then. St. Au^uatine, whose 
veracity it is to be supposed no one will queition, not 
meielybeardof them, but actually preached the gospel 
to such beings. In hia 3Ttli sennon, Ad Fratres in 
Gremo, he thus expresses himself. " E^ jam £p)- 
scopuB Hipponenria eram et cmn qnibnsdam secvia 
Chriati ad ^thioiuam perrexi nt eis sanctum Christi 
Evangelium predicarem et Tidimus ibi multos ho> 
mines ae mulieres capita lum habetUes." Kommatm 
in hia " de Miracnlis Vivorum" (Frankf. 1694, p. 58) 
endeavoura to account, philosophically, for the pio> 
ductiou of headless people. 

If oue saint preached to people " capita non ha- 
bentes," the history of other saints will prove that 
the head is not so eiaential a part of man as is gene- 
rally believed. The Legend of St. Denis, who, taat 
tSle, walked from Paris to the place which now beaia 
bi* name, is too well known to require repetition. 
At Zaragosa, in Spain, there is a church called £d- 
grada, the patron saint of which is said to have marched 
a league, carrying his head in his bands, talking all 
the way ; and in this manner he presented himself at 
the gate of the convent The marvellous expertuess 
of the Orrilo of Bojardo and ArioBio at slicking on bis 
head and lunbs, when thej chanced to be struck off 
by the adverse knight, must be familiar to the Italiau 
reader. Hia chase of Aslolpbo, who gallops off with 
h2 



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ISO tBe ooOd -wouav. 

dwha«d, farflXGcedi the Mberwtlkof'tkeiforaMid 
^tMU'iaiiits. See OiUndo Fnrioao, c. IS. 

:Blted Htiry records the idventore of tn Ixiiik 
cMeAain i*lu> pitched bU head at the -raiomed Sit 
Willitm Walkoe, which Sir William, dexteMnul; 
catdung by the hair, fiong back at bis adwmrj. 

The idea of decollated peraone walking piofatUy 
beg&n tbni : — "The <dd painters reftreseiited the 
nunyrs by ^atscteriatio badges, alliuive of the mode 
of Uieir execntkm ; tome with a Iqufe in the boaom ; 
tAhetsi who were deca[alated, with thdr heads open * 
tidik hBid by, or in their hands. Hence, perhaps, 
arose the singiikr sign, atill so great a favowite with 
oar oil-men, 'The good woman,' toigitially expreMJve 
of a female saint ; a holy or good woman, who had 
met her d*Uh by the pTivation of her bead." There 
Is no 'Udioiity to prove that beadleas people were 
imaUe to ipedc ,- on the contrary, a THriatioa of the 
story of the Golden Mountain given in a note in the 
XtHdermSrthen, relates, that a temnt wUhout a htad 
infurmed the fliberman (who was to adiieve the ad- 
v«nt|irc), of the enchantment -of the king's daujpttei, 
and of the mode of liberating ber. Howbythew^- 
gery of after age* the good woman came to be conTcrted 
down into the slleut woman, as if it-were a matter vS 
necessity, ii thus explained by the poet : 

" A silent woman, air ! yon said — 
Pray, was she painted without head } 
, ' Yes, air, she was !— you never read on 
A silent woman with her head on ; 



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THE -GOOD WOMAN. 101 

Besides, yoa know, thaeVaon^t but tpttkiag 
Can k«ep a. woman's heart from breaking I" 

Mr. M. W. Fraed, in his pretty tale of Lillian, by an 
ingeniouB metapborof a buatiful idiot, would explain 
a beadleas woman. 

" And benee ibt story bad ever nm, 
Tbat tbe fkireit of dame* was a beadleM one." 

To paaa fiaia the living to the dead. " The Iiitb. 
Dullaban," said a high authority on ancb- matters,, 
" puts me in mind of aipeelre at Urumlaariok castle 
of no'leasaperson than thedadKnafQaeenabcriT— 
' Fair Kitty, Uooming, youngi and gay,' — who, in> 
atead of setting fiia totbe world in mamma's chariot,, 
amneei heraelf with wheeling her own head, in a. wheeU 
barrow through the ^«at gallery." 

At Odense, in tbe Island of Funen, tbe people r^ 
late that a priest, who sedoced a girl and murdered 
bet babe, was buried alive for bis crimes. Hia Gbost 
is now condemned to walk, and Sunday children 
(tbow bom ou Sunday, who are gifted with the powQT 
of seeing what is inndble to other eyes) have beheld 
him going about with his head vnder hit am. — Thiele't 
Danske Folkiagn, voL U. p. B4. 

In notes on the subsequent storiea of this secdoD, 
headless appearances, connected with horaea and car- 
riages, will be noticed. Such apparitions are somca 
times looked on as the forerunners of death. Came- 
rariua, in his Operc Subeedva, e. i. p. 336., says. It 
not un&equently happens in monasteries that the 



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101^ THE GOOn WOMAIf. 

qiectiefl (wTaiths) of inonkB and nuns, whose death is 
■t hand, are reen in the chapel, occupyiDg their usual 
teats, but without heads. Dr. Ferrier, in his Theory 
of Apparitions, speaking of second sight in Scotland, 
fp. 65) mentions anoldnortheiti chieftain, who owned 
toarelatiTCofhiB (Dr. Fa.) "that the door" (of the 
room in which they and some kidlea were sitting) 
" had appeared to open, and that a little woman vith- 
otU a head had entered the room ; — that the apparition 
indicated the sudden death of some person of his ac- 
quaintance," &c. 

This last dTcnmstance of death being presaged by 
apparitions without heads seems to have something 
iymbolicsl in it, as it was very natural to denote the 
cessation of life by a flgore devoid of the seat oS 
sensation and thought. 



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HANLON'8 MILL. 

Onb fine Bummer's evening Michael NoonaR 
went over to Jack Brien'a, the shoemaker, at 
Batl^duff, f«r the paii of btt^ea which Jack was 
mending for him. It was a pretty walk the way 
be toc^, hut very lonesome ; all along by the 
riverside, down under the oak-wood, till he came 
to Hanlon'a mill, that used to be, hut that had 
gone to ruin many a long year ago. 

Melancholy enough the walla of that same mill 
looked ; the great old whed, black with age, all 
covered over with moes and fenu, and the basket 
aU hanging down about it. There it stood, silent 
and motionless ; and a sad contrast it was to iti 
farmer bu^ clack, with the stream which once 
gave it use rippling idly along. 

Old Hanlon was a man that had great know- 
ledge of all sorts ; there was not as herb that grew 
in the field but he could tell the name of it and 
its use, out of a big book be had written, every 
word of it in the real Irish karacter. He kept a 
school on(£, and could teach tbe Latin ; that-surely 
is a hleased tongue all over the wide wodd ; and 



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104 hanlon's hill. 

I hear tell as how " the great Burke" went to 
school to faim. Master Edmund lived up at the 
old housCj there, which was then in the family, 
and it was the Nagles that got it afterwards, hut 
they sold it. 

But it was Michael Noonan's walk I was about 
Speaking of. It was fitirly between lights, the 
daj was clean gone, and the moon was not yet 
Up, when Mick was walking smartly ataoss the 
Inch. Welli he heatd, coming down out of tlie 
wood, such Uowing of horns and hallooing, and 
the C17 of all die Houn^ in die world, and he 
dioii^t they were coming after hidi ; and the 
galloping of tbe horses, atid the voice of the 
whipper-in, and' he diouting out, jtist like die 
fine old song, 

" Hallo Piper, Lily, agus Finder ;" 

and the edio over from the gray rock acrosk the 
river givii^ back every word as ^ainly as it was 
spoken. But nothing could Mick see, and the 
ahontitag and hallocdiig fidlowhig hint every step 
of die way till he got Dp to Jack Brien's Aoac ; 
and he was certain, too, he heard dK dack of oh) 
Hanlon's mill going, ihrou^ all the clatter. To 
be sure, he ran as Mt M {eat and his tegs could 
carry him, and never once loc^edhehind him, well 
knowing that the Dufaallow houitdR were diit iir 



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hani^n's hill. lOd 

quite another quarter that day, and that nothing 
good could come out of the noise of Hanlos's milli 

Weill Michael Noonan got his btogues^ and 
wdl heeled they were, and well' pleased wb« he 
with them j when who should be seated at Jat^ 
Kien's before him, hut a gossip of his, one Datt^ 
Haynea, a mighty decent man, that had a heoae 
and car of his own, and that used to be travelling 
with it, taUng loads like the royal nuul coach be- 
tween Cork and Limerick ; and when he was at 
home. Darby was a near nei^bour ctf Michael 
Noonan'a. 

" Is it home yon 're going with die brogue* 
this blessed night ?" said Darby to him. 

"Where eke would it be?" replied Mick'; 
" but, by my w(»d, 'tis not atotMs the Inch back 
again I 'm going, after all I heard coming here ; 
'tia to no good that old Hanlon's mill is hosf 

" True, for you," said Dwhy ; " and' may ba 
you 'd take the hone anA car htnoe for mej Mick> 
by w^ of oHnpluiy, as 'tis along the road you goi 
I'm waiting here bx see a Mitel's son of iniD» 
that I ejqpeot from Kilcdeman." " That sanM 
III do," answered Mick, "with' a- thousand wel- 
comes." So Mick drove the car fair and easy^ 
knowing that the poor beast had come off a long 
y^jseaey j and Mick — Ood reward Um iat i«-^ 



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106 BANLON's ICILL. 

was alwf^i tender-hearted and good to the dumb 
creatures. 

The uight wai a beautiiul one ; the moon was 
better than a quarter dd ; and Mick, lotting up 
iX her, could not help bestowing a blessing an her 
beautiful face, shining down so sweetly upon the 
gentle Awbeg. He had now got out of the open 
road and had come to where the trees grew on 
each side of it : he proceeded for some space in 
the half-and'half light which the moon gave 
through them. At one time when a big old tree 
got between him and the moon, it was so dark 
that be could hardly see the horse's head ; then, 
as be passed on, the moonbeams would stream 
througb the open boughs and variegate the load 
with lights and shades. Mick was lying down in 
the car at his esse, having got clear of the planta- 
tion, and was watching the bright piece of a 
moon in a little pool at the road aide, when he 
HW it disappear all of a sudden as if a great cloud 
came over the sky. He turned round on his elbow 
to see if it was so, but how was Mick astonished 
at finding, close along-side of the car, a great high 
black coach drawn by six black hmses, with long 
black taOs reaching almost down to the ground, 
and a coachman dressed all in black sitting up on 
the box. But what surprised Mick the most was, 
that he could lee no sign of a head either upon 



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HAMLOX'b UILLj IOT 

coachman or liones. It swept rapidly by liim, and 
lie could perceive tlie hones raising Uieir feet u 
if they were in a fine slinging trot, the coachmaa 
touching them up with his long whip, and the 
wheels spinning round like hoddj-doddies ; still 
he couU hear no nmse, only tlie regular step ct 
his gossip Darby's horse, and the squeaking of tlie 
gudgeons of the car, that were as good as lost en- 
tirely for want of a little grease. 

Poor Mick's heart almost died within him, but 
he said nothing, only looked on; and the black 
coach swept away, and was soon lost among some 
distant trees. Mick saw nothing more of it, or 
indeed of any thing else. He got home just as the 
moon was going down behind Mount Hillery — 
took the tackling off the horse, turned the beast 
out in the field for the night, and got to his bed. 
' Next morning, early, he was standing at the 
road-side thinking of all that had happened the 
night before, when he saw Dan Madden, that was 
Mr. Wrixon's huntsman, coming on the master's 
best horse down the hiU] as hard as ever he went 
at ^e taU of the hounds. Mick's mind instantly 
misgave him that all was not ri^t, so he stood out 
in the very middle of the road, and caught hold of 
Dan's bridle when he came up- 

" Mick, dear^ — for the lovb of God i don't stop 
ia»" cried Dan. 



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108 hamloh's hill. 

" Why, wbU-'s the hurry P" nid Mick. 

'• Oh, the mutei!— he's off— he's off— be "U 
never cross a hone agun till the day of judg- 
ment !" 

"Why, what would oil his honour?" said 
Af ick ; " sure it i» no later tium yeit^day morn- 
ing that I was talking to him, and he stoat and 
hearty; and sayaheto me, Mick, aayahe" — 

" Stout and hear^ was he ?" answered Madden ; 
"and was he' not out with me in theksnaellaat 
id^t, when I was feeding the di^; and didn't 
he come out to the stahle, and give a ball to P^ 
Pulluway with his own hand, and tell me he 'd 
nide the old General to>^y ; and sara," said DaUj 
wiping his eyea with the sleeve of his coat, "who *d 
have thought dtat tie first thing I'd see this morn- 
ing IVEts the mistress standing at my bed-nde, and 
bidding me get up and ride <tf like fire &t Doctc^ 
Johnson; for the master bad gotafit, and" — pooi 
Dan's grief ohoked his voice — "dhi Mick! if you 
havs aiheart in you, run over yourself,.or send th* 
gassoon for Kate Finnigan, the midwife ; she 's a 
cruel skUfiil woman, and maybe ^e ndghb save 
the master, till I get the doctor." 

Dan struck his spurs into ^e hunter, and. Mi- 
chael Noonan flung off his- newly-mended Ivogue^ 
and cut across the fields to Kate Finnigan's; hut 
neither the doctor nor Katty was of any arad, 



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HAKLON^S WILL. 109 

and the next nigfat'g mooa law BaUygibblin— uid 
more 'b the pity — ahnuse of looaiBing. 



To ■!) snon^DOiu correapondent (A. H. B. Clon- 
mel) the compiler U chiefly indebted for the tongdag 
legend. Burke'* reoidence in the neighbourhood of, 
■nd earlj education at Cutletown roehe, are noticed 
b; Mr. Prior in his excdlent life of that iUustrioiu 

Another legend of the ume district relatei, tbats 
black coach, drawn by hesdleia hor«ea, goei every 
night from Coitle Hyde till it comet to Glana Fauna, 
a little beyond Bollyhooly, when it proceeds up the 
ToUey, and then returasbsck agaio. TbeBamecooch 
is aim reported to drive every Saturday night through 
the town of Doneraile, and to stop at the doon of dlf- 
fereot bousea; but ahould any one be so fool-hardy 
ai to open the door, a basin of blood is instantly flui^ 
in their face. 

The appearance of " the Headless Coach," aa it is 
called, is a very general superstition, and is generally 
regarded as a sign of death, or an omen of somemis- 

" The people of Basse Bietagne believe, that when 
the death of any penon is at hand, a hearse drawn 
by skeletons (which they call carriguet an nankon}, 
■nd Govocd with a white sheet, pasKS by the bouse 
where the sick person liea, and the creaking of the 



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110 hani^m'h hill, 

wheel* may be plunly heard." — Journal det Scieacet, 
18S6, commuaicaied bg Dr. Grimm. 

The Gla^ow Chronicle (Januuy, 1896) Tecotds 
the following occurrence if Paisley, on the occasion 
of some nlkneaTerabeiDgout of employment. 

" Viaions have been seen of carts, caravans, and 
coaches going up Gleniffer braes without horses, or 
with hones without heads. Not many nights ago, 
mourning coaches, too, were seen going up the Cart 
above the town, with all the solemnity of a funeral. 
Some hoary-headed dtizent relate, that about thirty 
years backward in their history, a famine was pror 
guosticated in much the same way, by unusual appear- 
ances in the Causey-side. The most formidable wit- 
neves in favour of the visions come from Neilston, 
who declare that they have seen the coaches, &c. two 
by two, coming over the braes, and are quite willing 
to depose to said facts whenever asked, before the 
Paisley magistrates." 

Places where any fatal accident has occurred, or 
any murder been committed, are seldom without 
a supernatural tale of terror, in which the headless 
coach and horses perform their part One instance 
will probably suffice. 

Many years ago, a clergyman belonging to St Ca- 
tharine's church in Dublin resided at the old caatle 
of Donore, in the vicinity of that dty. From mdan- 
choly, or some other cause, he put an end to his exist- 
ence, by hanging himself out of a window near the 
top of the «astle, so small that it was matter of Bur<- 
prise how he waa able to force his body through it. 



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HANLOM'S HILL. Ill 

That he bad mpenutnral ud in accomplishing the 
deed ia the beUef of the neighbourhood ; for, beaidei 
the sniallness of the vrindow, there is the farther evi- 
dence that, to this very da;, the mark of hia figure ii 
teen on the wall beneath it, and no vhitewuhing ia 
able to cfice it. After hia death, a coach, sometimes 
driven by a coachman nitbont a head, Bometimes 
drawn hy honea without heads, waa frequently ob- 
aerred at night driving furiously hy Roper's Rest, 
K the castle was called from him. 

Popular l^endt are IHill of accounts of wild hunts- 
men, and such restless peraonages. King Arthur, we 
are told, used to hunt in the English woods : no one 
could see the monarch himself, but the sounding of 
the horns and the cry of the hounds might be plainly 
heard ; and when any one colled out after him, an 
answer was returned — " We are king Arthur and his . 
kindred." In France there was Le Grand Veneur, 
who haunted the woods round Fontainebleau ; in 
Germany, Uackelbei^, who gave np hia share of 
heaven for permission to hunt till doomsday ; in 
Sleswick, king Abel; in the Danish islands, Grcn 
Jette, who rides with his head under his arm ; Palna 
Jager, and king Wolmar, or Walilemsr : thia last 
monarch also hunts in Jutland, where he may be 
heard continually crying out, Hei! Hou! Lystig! 
Courage I which are the namea c^ bis four hounds, 
^r hunting fairies, see Waldron, p. 133 ; also Cro- 
mek'a Remains of Nithisdale and Galloway Song, 
p. S9S, and note on subsequent story. 



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THE HARVEST DINNER. 

It was Moodey, iind a fine October morning. 
Tlie nin had been some time alxtve the mountaina, 
and the hoar frost and the drops aa the gossamen 
were glittering in the light, when Thadf Byrne, 
on coming in to get his breakfast, after having 
dug out Bgood piece ofhig potatoes, saw his neigh- 
bour, Paddj Cavena^, who lived on the other 
side of the rood, at his own door tying his 

" A good morrow to you, Paddy, honey," said 
Thady Byrne. 

" Good morrow, kindly, Thady," said Paddy. 

" Why then, Paddy ayick, it is not your early 
Ei»ng, any how, that will do you any hann this 
morning." 

" It 's true enough for you, Thady," answered 
Paddy, casting a look up at the sky ; " for I be- 
lieve it 'a pretty late in the day. But I was up, 
you see, murdering late last night." 

" To he sure, then, Paddy, it was up at the 
great dinner, yesterday, above at the big house 
you were." 



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TbE HARVEST DINNER. 113 

" A7 was it ; and a rattling fine dinner we had 
irfU, too." 

" Why, then, Paddy, agrah, what ib to ail you 
now, bnt you 'd jugt at yourself down here, on 
this piece <tf g^^^n sod, and tell ui all about it, 
from beginning to end." 

" Neve* say the word twice, man ; 1 11 give 
you the whole fiill and tiue account of it, and 
welcome." 

They -sat down cm the road side, and Paddy 
Uhh began : 

" Well, you see, Thady, we 'd a powetiul great 
harvest irfit, you know, this year, and the men all 
worked like jewels as they are ; and the master 
was ia great spirits, and he promised he 'd give us 
all a grand dinner when the drawing'in was over, 
and the oom all safe in the ha^jard. 80 this 
last we^ crowned the business ; and on Saturday 
night the last sheaf was neatly tied and sent in to 
the mistrem, and every thing was finished, all to 
the thatching oi the rit^ Well, you see, just as 
Larry Toole was come down &om heading the last 
rick, and we were taking away the ladder, out 
domes the mistress, herself — Itmg life to her — by 
the light of the moon ; and ' Boys,' says she, ' yes 
have finished the harvest bravely, and I invite yes 
all to dinner here, to-morrow; and if yez come 

PARI II. I 



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Hi THE HARVEST DIMNEB. 

eoAy, yez shall hare man in tlie big hall, without 
the tnuUe of going up all the ways to the ch^pd 
for it.* " 

" Why, then, did die really »ay ao, Paddy ?" 

" That she did — the sorrow the lie in it." 

" Well, go on." 

" Well, if we did not set up « shout for her, 
it'anoinstterr 

" Ay, and good right you h«d too. Faddy, avick." 

" Well, you lee, yesterday morning — which, 
God be praised! was as fine a day as ever came out 
of the iky — when I had taken the beard off me, 
TomConnor andlset outforthe big house. And 
I don't know, Thady, whether it was the fineness 
of the day, or the thoughts of the good dinner we 
were to have, or the kindness of the mistress, that 
made my heart so light, but I felt, anyhow, as gay 
as any iky-lark. — Well, when we got up to the 
house, there was cvety one of the people that 's in 
the work, men, women, and childer, all come to- 
gether in the yard ; and a pretty sight it was to 
look upon, Thady — they were all to gay, and so 
dean, and so happy." 

" True for you. Faddy, agrah ; and a fine 
thing it is, too, to work with a real gentleman, 
like the matter. But tell us, avick, how it was 
the mistress contrived to get the mass for yet : 



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THE HAKVEST DINNER. 116 

sure father Clancej', himself, or the coadjutw, 
didn't come over 7" 

" No, in troth didn't thej ; but the miaUtM 
managed it better nor all that. You see, Thady, 
then 'b a priest, an old friend t^ the family'i, tme 
father Mullin, on a visit thia fortnight past, up at 
the tag house. He 's as gaj a little man as ever 
qioke, only he 's a little too fond of the drop — the 
mote 18 the pity — and it 's whiq>ered about among 
the servants, that by means of it he haa lost a pa- 
rish he had down the country ; and he was on tiia 
way up to Dublin, when he stopped to spend a 
few days with his old friends, the master and 



" Well, you see, the mistress, on Saturday, 
without saying a single word of it to any living 
soul, writes a letter with her own hand, and sends 
Tom Freen c^ with it to &ther Clancey, to ax 
h'"' for a loan of the vestments. Father Clancey, 
you know, is a mighty genteel man, and one that 
likes to oblige the quality in any thing that does 
not go against his duty ; and glad he was to have 
it in his power to serve the mistress ; and he sent 
off the vestments with all his heart and soul, and 
as civil a letter. Tommy Freen says — for he heard 
the mistress reading it — as ever was penned. 

" Well, there was an altar, you see, got up in 
the big hall, just between the two doors — if ever, 



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116 THE HABVXST tUHNEK. 

you were in it — lw»jiTig jnta the Oae^aaa md 
the room the chihler sleep in; and when ereET 
thing WAS readjr we all came in, end the priest 
gave tu ai good mass ereiy tut ai if we vae op 
at the (hapel tat k. The miatren end all the 
ftmily attended themaelTea, and they stood just 
within-side of the parlour-door ; and it was xeaUy 
stuprinng, Iliady, to Bee hcpw decently ^ey be- 
haved tfaemselTea. If they 'd been bU their lires 
going to chapel diey could not have behaved them'' 
selrea better nor they did." 

" Ay, Paddy, maroumeen, 1 11 be %Ril they 
didn't aUt -and laugh the way Mine ^leople would 
he dcdng." 

" Lau^ !— not thenselvea, indeed ! They 'd 
moMK mannen, if nothing else, nor to ds thati— ■ 
Well, to go on with my story : when the mass 
was over we went strolling about the lawn sand 
plaoe t31 three o'clock come, and then, ytm see, 
the big bell rung out for dinner, and mayhe 
it was not we that were glad to hear it. So away 
with ns to the long ham where tLe dinner wu 
laid out; and upon my consdcnoe, Thady Byrne, 
there '■ not one word of lie in what I 'm going to 
tdl you ; but at the sight of so mudi victuals 
every taste of ^petite in the world left me, aad 
I thought I 'd have iainted down on the ground 
. tiiat was under me. Theie was, yon aee, two 



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TUB HABTEBT DINNXB. IIT 

rmn v£ long table* laid tlie whole length at ib» 
barn, and tuble-cloths qiiead upon enry iach at 
ibem ; and there wai loundi of beef, and rump* 
ofbeef, and rils of beef, both boiled and roast; 
asd there was 1^ «f mutton, end handi at poA, 
And pieoea of fine bacon ; and there was cabbage 
and potatoes to no end, and a knife and (oA 
laid for enrj body; and barrels of beer and 
porter, wi^ the codes in every one-of them, and 
Bugs and porringers in heaps. In all my ham 
days, Tludy dear, I never laid eyes on such a load 
of vktnals." 

" By the powers of delph ! Paddy ahayger, 
and it «a* a grand light sure enoogb. Tear and 
sjje» I irtiat ill luck I had not to be in tiie w<rt 
this year! Bat go on, agrah." 

" Well, yoa see, the maiter, Tiiiwlf, stood op 
at the md of one of the taUee, and cut up a fine 
piece of the beef for os; and right foren«it him 
sat, at the other end, old Paddy Byrne ; Sor, 
dion^ you know he h a fanner himself, yet the 
nistreM Is so fond of htm — he is rk^ a decent 
nan — that she would, by alt manner of means, 
hare him there. Then the pfiest was at ^ 
head of the other teUe, and said grace for u», 
^id then fell to dashing op anodier piece of the 
beef for os; sad fbrenent him sat Jem Murray 
the Stewart; and sure enough, 11isdy,it was our- 



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lis THE HARVEST DINMEB. 

■elves that played away in grand Myle at the beef, 
and the muttcn, and the cabbage, and all tbe other 
fine thingB. And there was Tom Freen, and all 
the other serrants waiting upon usj and hand- 
ing UB drink, just aa if we were so many grand 
gentlemen that were dining with the nuater. — 
Well, you see, when we were about half done, in 
walks the mistress herself, and the young master, 
and the young ladies, and the ladies from Dublin 
that's down on a visit with the mistress, just, as 
she said, to see if we were happy and merry over 
our dinner ; and then, Thady, you see, without 
any body saying a single word, we all stood up like 
one man, and every man and boy, with his full por- 
ringer of porter In his hand, drank long life and 
success to the mistress and master, and every one of 
the family. — I don't know for others, Thady, but 
for myself, I never said a prayer in all my life more 
iirom the heart; and a good right I bad, sure, 
and fvery one that was there, too; for, to say no- 
thing of the dinner, is there tbe like of her in 
the whole side of tbe country for goodness to the 
poor, whether they 're sick or they 're well ? Would 
not I myself, if it was not but for her, be a lone 
and desolate man this blessed day ?" 

" It 's true for you, avick, for she brought Judy 
tkrough it better nor any doctor of them all." 

" Well, to make a long story Aortj we site bii4 



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THE HARVEST DINNER. .119 

we drank, and we talked and we laughed, till we 
were tired, and aa soon as it grew duak we were 
all called again into the hall ; and there, you eee, 
the mistress had got over Tim Connel, the blind 
piper, and had sent for all the women that could 
come, and Ae cook had tea for them down below 
in the kitchen ; and they came up to the hall, and 
there was chairs set round it for us all to sit upon, 
and the mistress' came out of the parlour, and 
' Boys,' says she, ' I hope yez have made a good 
dinner, andl'vebeen tbinkiogof yez, yousee,and 
I 've got jex plenty of partners, and it 's your own 
fhults if yez don't spend a pleasant evening.' So 
with that we set up another shout for the mis* 
tress, and Tim struck up, and the master took 
out Nelly Mooney into the middle of the floor to 
dance a jig, and it was they tliat footed it neatly. 
Then the master called out Dinny Moran, and 
dragged him up to one of the Dublin young la- 
dies, and bid Dinny be stout and ax her out to 
dance with him. So Dinny, you see, though he 
was ashamed to make so free with the lady, still 
he was afeard not to do as the master bid him; 
so, by my conscience, he bowled up to her nuta- 
fuUy, and held out the fist and axed bet out to 
dance with him, and she gave him her band in a 
crack, and Dinny whipped her out into the middle 
of the ball, fbrenent us all, and pulled up his 



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leO THE HARTEBT DtIf»ER. 

breeehei, snd called out to Tim to Uow up ' The 
Rock§ jof Cashel' for them. And theu, my jewel, 
if you were to Bee them ! DinKj flinging the Ic^ 
about as if they 'd fly &om off him, and the lady 
now here now there, jast fear all the wcrld as if 
she was a spirit, for not a taste of noise did ahe 
make on the floor that ever was heard; andDinny 
calling out to Tim to play it up faster taxi fastec, 
and Tim almost working his elbow through the 
bag, tUl at last the lady was faiily tind, and 
Dinny dapped his hands and called out Peggy 
BeOly, and she attacked him boldly, and danced 
down Dinny, and then up got Johnny Regan, 
and pat her down txmifdetely. And since the 
world was a world, I believe there nerer was 
such dancing gees." 

" The sorrow the doubt of it, avick, I 'm ceir 
tain ; At^ 're all of them such real fine dancers- 
And only to think of the lady dancing with the 
likes of Dinny I" 

" Well, you see, poor old Paddy Bjnue, when 
he hears that the women were all to be there, ia 
he gou into the parlour to the mistress, and axes 
her if he mig^ make so bold as to go home and 
fetch his woman. So the mistress, you see-^ 
though you know Katty Byrne is no great fih- 
Touiite with her — was glad to oblige Paddy, and 
•0 Kat^ Byrne was there too. And thm id4 



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THS HARVEST DIMNEB. 131 

Hugh CaiT Bxed her out to more a mwmet widi 
him ; and there was Hugh, aa stiff as if he bad 
dioed upon tate of the (pits, with his Uack wig 
and bis long brown coat, and his blue itockingi^ 
moviDg about with his bat in his hand, and lead- 
ing Katty about, and looking so soft upon her ; 
and Katty, in her stiff mob-cap, with the can 
[umed down under het dbin, and her little "biaek 
hat on the top of her head ; and she at one comer 
atrchei/ing to Hugh, and Hugh at anotber bowing 
t9 her, and every body wondering at them, tbey 
moved it so d^antly." 

" Troth, Faddy, avoumeen, that was well 
wrath going a mile of ground to we." 

" Well^ yoD we, when the dancing waa overi 
they tocA to the tiiigii^ and Bill Carey gave the 
' Wounded Huwar' and the ' Poor but Honest SoU 
dier* in such s^Ie, thafr 3rou 'd have heard him up 
on the top of SIe« Roo; and Dinny Moran and 
old Tom Freen gave ue the best eongs the; had, 
and the priwt rang the Cniiskera Laun for w 
gaily, and one of the yoimg ladies jdayed and sung 
upon a thmg widiin in the parlour like a taUe, 
that was prettier nor any pipea to liatwi to." 

" Ai^ didn't Bill glre yea ' As- down by 
Banna's banks I strayad?' Sure that's wie dt 
the beet sofigB be baa." 

" And that he did, till he made the very acatf 



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IS2 THE HAKTEST DINNEK. 

shake under xu ; but a body can't remember every 
thing, you know. WeD, where was I ? — oh, ay ! 
— You see, my dear, the poor little priest was all 
the night long going backwards and forwards, 
every minute, between the parlour and the hall, 
and the spirits, you see, was lying open upoa the 
sideboard, arid the dear little man he couldn't 
keep himself from it, but kept helping himself to 
a drop now and a drop then, till at last he became 
all fla one as tipsy. So, then, he comes out into 
the hall among us, and goes about whispering to 
us to go home, and not be keeping the family out 
of their beds. But the mistress saw what he was 
at, and she spoke out, and she said, ' Good people,* 
says she, ' never mind what the prieft says to yez 
— yez are my company, and not his, and yez are 
heartily welcome to stay as long as yez like/ So 
when he found he could get no good of us, he rolled 
off with himself to bis bed ; and his head, you see, 
was BO bothered with the liquor he 'd been taking 
that he never once thought of taking off his hoots, 
but tumbled into bed with tbem upon him— 
Tommy Freen told us when he went into the 
room to look after him; and devil be in Tim, 
when he heard it, but he lilts up the ' Priest in 
his boots ;' and, God forgive us ! we all burst out 
laughing ; for sure who could help it, if it was the 
Ushop himBelf ?" 



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THE II AS VEST OTNVEIE. ISS 

" Trotli it was a shame for jez, anyliow. But 
Paddy, sgrah, did jez come awaj at all ?" 

" Wb]' at last we did, after another round of 
punch, to the glory and luccesi of the &ini]]r> 
And now, Thady, cornea the moat Burprisingest 
part of the whole story. I was all alone, you 
see ; for my woman, you know, could not leave 
the childer to come to the dance, so, as it was a 
fine moonshiny night, nothing would do me but 
I must go out into the paddock to look after pooi 
Rainbow, the plough-buUock, that has got a bad 
shoulder ; so by that means, you see, I missed the 
company, and had to go home all alooe. Well, 
you see, it was out by the back gate I went, and 
it was then about twelve in the night, as well as 
I could judge by the plou^, and the moon was 
^lining as bright as a tilver dish, and there was 
not a sound to be beard but the screeching of the 
idd owl down in the ivy-wall ; and I felt it all 
pleastint, for I was somehow rather hearty with 
the drink I'd been taking; for you know, Thady 
Byrne, I 'm a sober man." 

" That 's nu lie for you, Paddy, avick< A little, 
as they say, goes a great way with you." 

" Well, you lee, on I went whistling to my- 
aelf some of the tunes they 'd been singing, and 
thJnktng of any thing, sure, but the good people ; 
when just as I came to the craner of the planta- 



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1S4 TBB HABTEBT OIHMEE. 

tfam, and got a sight of the tug IwBh, I thought, 
faith, I uw some thing* moring badiwards and 
ferwordi, uid d>niang like, up in the buah. I 
wu quite certaia it was the faiiiM th^t, you know, 
reeort to it, for I could lee, I thou^t, their little 
red caps and green jadceti quite pbia. Well, I was 
thinking at fint of going back and getting hixae 
throu^ the fields: but, says I to myself, what 
ritOuJd I be afieard oif I 'm an boiieat awn, si^B 
I, that does nobody any harm ; and I lieard mass 
tbls morning ; and it'i neither HoUyeve, oor St. 
J<^n's eve, nor any other of their great days, and 
they can do me no hurt, I 'm certain. So I nude 
the ugn of tlM crm, and on I went in God's 
name, till I came right under the buah ; and 
what do you think they were, Thady, after all ?" 

" Arrah, how can I tell 7 But you weze a 
sUut man anyhow, Paddy, agrah !" 

" Why then, what was it but the green leaves 
of the old buth and the rod bunehea of the haws 
that were waving and fliaking in the moonli^t. 
Well, on I goes till I cane to A& omer of the 
erab-rOad, when I happened to cast my ejoi over 
towards the little moat that is in the moat-field, 
and there, hy my timl! (Ood fin^ve me for 
swearing) 1 saw the fairies in real earnest." 

" You did, Otoi, did you f" 

" Ay, by my £sidi, did I, and a migltty ptetiy 



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THIS HUtVEST filNKKH. 186 

li^titWMtoa, leaattHlfoa. Tli«iide«f Ae 
moat, yoa see, thst lodu iiLto the field wu spen, 
■ad out of it tjuire came ihe dulioteBt little GBTol* 
cade of tbe pxettiest little fellowi joa ever kid 
four ejes upon. Th<7 were all drenid in gntm 
hunting frocks, nrith nice little red ca^ on their 
beada, and ibej wve mtuntcd tm jnetty little 
long-tailed white piaiief, not ao lug ai young kid^ . 
and ibej rode two and two so niedj. Well, jaa 
we, diey took li^ acroM the field jiut above 
thewuid-pit, aad I was wondwlng in mTielf what 
they'd do when tliey came to the faig dildi, thinUng 
they 'd never get over H. But I 'II tell jou what 
it is, Tba^, — ib. Tom and the brown nuus, 
though Aej'ie both of them gay good at either 
ditch or wall, they 're not to be talked ctf in die 
WDoe day with them. Thc^ took the ditch, you 
lee, big ac it is, in fuU stroke ; not a man of them 
was dhocA in his seat or lost his rank ; it waa pop, 
pep, pop, over with them, and then, hunal— 
away with diem like shot aciou the high field, 
in thie directum <£ the old church. 

WeH, my dear, while I was straining my eyce 
looking after, I heart a great rumbling noise coming 
out (tf the moat, and when I turned about to look at 
it, what should I see but a gieat old &mily coach 
and Biz ctmiing out of the moat and making direct 
&r the gate where I was staading. Well, says I, 



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1S6 THE HABTEST DINNEB. 

I 'm ft lost man now anyhow. There waa no use at 
all, 70U we, in thinking to run for it, foi they were 
driving at the rate of a faimt ; bo down I got into 
the gripe, tli inking to sneak off with myself while 
they were opening the gate. But, by the* laws ! 
the gate flew open without a soul laying a. finger 
to it, the instant minute they came up to it, and 
they wheeled down the load just close to the spot 
where I was hiding, and I saw them as pltun ai I 
now see you ; and a queer si^t it was, too, to see, 
for not a morsel of head that ever was, was there 
upon one of the horses or on the coachman either, 
and yet, for all that, Thady, the had Liffenent't 
coach could not have made a handier or a shorter 
turn nor th^ did out of the gate ; and the blind 
thief of a coachman, just as they were making the 
wheel, was near taking the eye out of me with 
the lash of his long whip, as he was cutting up 
the horses to show off his driving. I 've my 
doubts that the schema" knew I was there well 
eoough, and that he did it all on purpose. Well, 
at it passed by me, I peeped in at the quality 
within-side, and not a head, no not as big as the 
head of a pin, was there among the whole kit of 
them, and four fine footmen that were standing 
behind the coach were just like the rest of them." 
" Well, to be sore, but it was a queer sight." 
" Well, away they went tattering along the. 



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THE HARVEST l>IMNEn, 127 

road, making the fire flj out of the itones at no 
rate. So when I niw they 'd no .eyes, I knew It 
was wnposBible thej could ever see me, so' up I 
got out of the ditch and after them with me along 
the road as hard as ever I could drive. But when 
I got to the rise of the hill I saw thej were a 
great waj a-head of me, and had taken to the 
fields, and were making ofi* for the old church too. 
I thou^t they might have some buainesi of their 
own there, and that it might not be safe fiir 
strangers to be going after them ; so as I was by 
this time near my own house, I went in and got 
quietly to bed without saying any thing to the 
wtnnan about it ; and long enough it was before 
I could get to sleep for thinking of them, and 
that 's the reason, Thady, I whs up so late this 
morning. But was not. it a strange thing, 
Thady ?" 

" Faith, and sure it was, Faddy, ahayger, as 
■tronge a thing as ever was. But are you quite 
certain and sure now you saw them P" 

" Am I certain and sure I saw them f Am I 
certain and sure I see the nose there on your face ? 
What was to ail me not to see them f Was not 
the moon shining as toight as <lay f And did not 
they pass within a yard of where I was? And 
did any one ever see me drunk or hear me tell a 
lie?" 



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188 THE HARVEST DIMNEB. 

" It's fame for yoa, Paddj, so one ever did, 
and mjnelf does not rigl>tl3r know what to my 
to it" 



The Bcene of th« H*rT«Bt IMimer Umid haatter; 
snd the nice ahaaver wiU paoeivs uniB alight di&r' 
encM betwtOB the langnage in it, snd the Mnnitei 
dialect cf die odtertakt. Attheendof "ihednwin^ 
in," a iheaf ver; osatl; twnnd vf is anit in to " (he 
mistKM," a sjmbti of the tennination of her harvest 
pares: uamatler of coarse, the bearer "gets a glass" 
to drink her health, and a genenl inritation to " the 
people in the work" follows. 

GoBiamen, a word used in the opening, Johnson 
says, are the long white cobwebs which fl; in the air 
in calm soimy weather, and he derins the word from 
the low Latin goesapiam. This is altogether very 
miatirfaetory. "Hie goaaamars are the eobivebe which 
mi^ be seen, puticulsrlj daring a tdU antainnid 
moniing, in snch ^aantititi on the fiizse bnahet, Mtd 
which are raised by the wind and floated through the 
air, as thus esqoisilely pictured by Browne in Britan- 
nia's PssUnals : 

" The milk-white goasarocn not apmids snowed." 
Book II. Song 8. 

Ever; lover of nature must have observed and ad- 
mired the beautiful appearance of the gossamers in 

t 

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THE HARVEST DINNER. 129 

the early monid^, when covered with dew-^n^, 
wbicb, like prisma, wpante tbe rays of lighi, and 
tiboot the blue, red, yellow, and other colotira of the 
EpeetTom, in brilliant confunon. Of king Oberon we 

" A ridi mantle he did wear, 
Made of tinsel gossamer, 
Bestarred ovtsr with a few 
Diamond drops of morning dew." 

Tbe word gossamer is evidently derived from gva, 
tbe gorse or furze. Query, Gou tamyl ? Voai, in a 
note to Luise, iii. IT, says, that in Germany the po> 
puUr belief attributes the manufacture of the goiaa- 
iner to the dwarfs and elTn. 

There is something pecuUariy pleasing in the terms 
of affection nwd by tbe lowet orders of the Irish in 
addressing each other; the expressions, agrah (my 
love) and avick (ray son) resemble the hijoi and An* 
mano» of the Spaniards, and the fathers and MR* of 
the Hebrews and Aratw. It-is curious that this ori- 
entaliam, if it may be called such, ehould be only found 
in Spain and Irdand, Perhaps its common origin Ilea 
in warmth of affection, of which no country affi)rds 
moreinslancesthsn the one last mentioned. On turn- 
ing over the unhappily too dark pages of Iriiih history, 
the reader must be struck with meeting, in the space 
of one rogn, tlie deaths of no less than three persons 
ascribed to grief for the loss of frieodi. One is an 

PAST JI. K 



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130 THE HASVE8T DIHNEB. 

earl of Kilclare, who, we are told, pined and died nhen 
death dejprrved him of hia faster broth^'. The caaae 
i ntajr not be the true one, but the bond of 
It have been strtHig in a country where 
such could even be mentioned. Golownin gives an 
instance of neuly Bimilsr strength of afiectiou among 
the Japanese. 

The perfection of singing, in the opinion of an Irish 
peasant, consiEts in itrengtb of lungs. " A powerful 
bass voice that could be heart! at the top of a neigh- 
bouring mountain," cairies off the palm of excellence, 
and ia sought after and listened to with enthusiasm. 
The favourite songs display no mean d^ree(tfp<^iulsr 
taste. Campbell's beautiful and pathetie baHad, men- 
tioned in the tale, is an especial favourite ; and " Ade- 
Uide," and "the datk-roUing Danube," are be fami- 
liar to the ^ears of the Iririi peasantry as Ogle's "Molly 
AEthore,"and "Banna'a bonks." Asafurtherproof of 
dioir natural good taste, it may be menlioned, tbst of 
the books printed and circulated by the Kildare Street 
Society, none is found to equal in sale Elizabeth, or 
the Exiles of Siberia. The leader wilt probably call 
to mind Gilbert Burns' remarks on the kindred taste 
of the Scottish peasantry. Much may be said re- 
specting educating the lower orders, according to their 
taste and through the medium of their supostitiotis, 
as the most attractive and efibctual modes i^ instruo- 
tion. But the great question of national education is 
one of too much importance to be trifled with in « 
hastily written note. 



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THE KAJITBST DINNEl. 181 

The ^ipMzance of (he fair; biuten fau Bome le- 
■embUnce to the relation in M'CuUociri aocount of 
the Highlanda and Wetlern I»lca of SooUukI, toL iv. 
p. 358. " Ona Highlander, in panlug a mountain, 
hears the tramp of bone*, the tniuic of the horn, and 
the cheering of the huntBman; when suddenly a gal- 
lant crew of thirteen fairj honters, dreased in green, 
aveep by him, the silver boasea of their bridlea jin. 
gUng in the night In^eze." 

The subsequent attested statement has been trans' 
mitted to the writer from Ireland, among other intel- 
ligence of fairy proceedings there. 

" The accnracy of the following storj I can vouch 
for, having heard it told several times b; the peraoa 
who aaw the drcumstanceB. 

" ' About twenty years back WOliam Cody, chum- 
boy to a person near Cork, hod, after flnisbing bii 
day*B work, to go through aixoreigbtSeldB tobiaown 
house, about I^ o'clock at night. He was passi:^ 
alongside of the ditch (Anglice, hedge) of a lai^ field, 
and coming near a quarry, he beard a great cracking 
of wbipG at the other side ; be went on to a gap in the 
same ditch, and out rode a little horseman, dressed in 
green, and mounted in the beat manner, who put a , 
whip to bis bieast and made him stop until several 
hundred horseman, all dressed alike, rode out of the 
gap at full speed, and swept round a glin : when the 
but horseman was clear off, Cbe sentinel clapt spurs 
to his horse, gave three cracks of his whip, and was 
out of sight in a second.' 

r2 



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132 THE HARVEST filKNER. 

- " Tbe penon would Eweu to the •bore, u he wu 
qoite Mber and sensible at the time. The place hsd 
alwiyi before the nune of being reiy airy *." 
[Signed] P- Bath. 

Rojtl Cork loititutioii, 3d June, 18Sfi. 



iix WilUi Scott, In UlutRliir oT Scottlih BordB, > 
iu thii word " u producing nipentltknu dn«d." 
[n the bilUd of TmmlMiw wc and 



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THE DEATH COACH. 

'Tis midnight ! — how gloomy aod dark I 
By Jupiter there 'a not a star I — 

■Tia fearful !— 'tia awful .'-^d hark ! 
What Bound is that comes fromafar ? 

Still rolling and rumbling, that sound 
Makes nearer and nearer approach ; 

Do I tremUe, or is it the ground ? — 
Lord save us!— what is it? — a coach I — 

A coach I — but that coach has no head ; 

And the horses are headless as it ; 
Of the drirer the same may be said. 

And the passengers inaide who sit> 

See the wheels ! how they fly o'er the atones ! 

And whirl, as the whip it goes crack : 
Their spokes are of dead men's thigh bones. 

And the pole is the spine of the back ! 



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134 THE DEATH COACH. 

The hammer-doth, diabby display, 
Ib a pall rather mildew'd bj damps ; 

And to light this strange coach on its way. 
Two hollow skuUs hang up for lamps ! 

From the gloom of Rathcooney church-yard. 
They dash down the hiU of Olanmire ; 

Pass Lota in gallop as hard 

As if hoiBCB were never to tire ! 

With people thus headless 'tis fun 

To drive In such furious career ; 
Since headlong their horaeS can't run. 

Nor coachn}an be keaddy &tnn beer. 

Very steep is the Tivoli lane, 

But up-hill to them is as down ; 
Nor the charms of WoodhiH can detain 

These Dullahans rushing to town. 

Could they feel as I 've felt — in a song — 

A spell ^at forbade them d^art ; 
They 'd a Ungerittg visit prolong. 

And after their head lose their heart ! 

No matter ! — 'tis past twelve o'clock ; 

Through the streets they sweep on like the 
wind. 



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THE DEATH COACH. 185 

And, taking the road to BUckrock, 
Cork city ii soon left behind. 

Should tb^ huny thus reckleas along. 

To supper instead of to bed. 
The landlord will surely be wrong. 

If he charge it at so much a head ! 

Vet mine host may suppose them too poor 
To bring to his wealth an increase ; 

As till now, all who drove to bis dooi, 
PosseBs'd at least one croten a-piece. 

Up the Deadwoman's hill they are roll'd ; 

Boreenmannah is quite out of sight ; 
Ballintemide they reach, and behold ! 

At its dturch-yard they stop and ali^t. 

" Who 's there ?" said a voice from the ground ; 

" We 've no room, for the place is quite fiilL" 
" O room must be speedily found. 

For we come from the parish of SkuU. 

" Though Murphys and Crowleys appear 
On headstones of deep-letter'd pride ; 

Though Scannels and Murleys lie here, 
Fiugeralds and Toomies beside ; 



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136 THE DEATH COACH. 

" Yet here for tlie night we lie down. 
To-morrow we speed on the gtde ; 

For having no hesidB of our own. 
We seek the Old Head of Kinsale." 



The Death Co*ch is called in Irish " ConcA a ioiMr," 
The time of its appearance is always midnight; and 
when heard to drive round any particular house, with 
the coachman's whip ciacking loudly, it is said to he 
■ sure omen of death. 

'Ihe following account of the Dallahans and their 
coach was communicated to the writer hy a lady re- 
sident in the neighbourhood of Ccwk : — 

" The; drive particularly hard wheierer a death is 
going to take place. The people about here thought 
that the road would be completely worn out with their 
galloping before Mrs. Spiers died. On the night the 
poor lady departed they brought an immense proces- 
sion with them, and instead of going Dp the road, as 
usual, they turned into Tivoh : the lodge-people, ac- 
cording to their own account, ■ were kill from theni 
that night' The coachman has a most marvellously 
long whip, with which he can whip the eyes out of 
■ny one, at any distance, that dares to look at him. 
I suppoae the reason he is so incensed at being looked 
at, is becanse be cannot return the compliment, 'pan 



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THB DEATH COACH. 137 

ihe 'eoant of hanng no luad. Wlttl ■ pitj it ia none 
but the DolUhans can go irithoat their headt ! Some 
feaple'a heads woald be no Iom to them, or taj one 
elM." 

A like supenlition to the drcumntance of "whip- 
l^ng out the eyea," is related b; Mr. Thiele as current 
in Denmark. He tells ui, that the oppressive lordi 
of Glorup drive erer; Christnuw night, in a stately 
coach, ftom their magnificent tomb in St. Knnd's 
church, in Odeniei to Glorup. The coach is drawn 
by aix white horses, with long glowing tongues ; and 
he who dares not hide his face when be bean it 
coining, atones for his rashneu with Ion of dght 
Dantke Folkeiagn, vol. ii. p. 104. 

" I cannot find," says a fair Welsh correspondent, 
" that we have any pecuhar designation for the head- 
ICM people beyond " Fenyw heb un pen," the beadlesa 
iroDian — " Ceffyl heb un pen," the headless horse; 
further we have not aspired, nor have I heard that 
this headless race in Wales extends beyond an humble 
horse. With us they have not assumed the same im- 
portance as in Ireland, by setting up tlieir carriage." 

The localities mentioned in the verses are all in the 
immediatt: Tidnity of the city of Cork, with the ex- 
ception of Skull and the Old Head of Kinsale, both 
of which lie on thecoastof that county. 



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THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN. 

" QoD speed you, and a safe journey this night 
to jou, Charley," ejaculated the master of the 
little sheebeen house at BaUyhoole^ after his old 
friend and good customer, Charley Culnane, who 
at length had turned his face homewards, with 
the prospect of as dreary a ride and as dark a night 
as ever fell upon the Blaclwater, along whoae 
banks he was ahout to journey. 

Charley Culnane knew the country well, and, 
moreover, was as bold a rider as any Mallow<boy 
that ever raUled a four-year-old upon Drumrue 
rac&Kwurse> He had gone to Fermoy in the 
morning, as well ica the purpose of purchasing 
some ingredients required for the Christmas din- 
ner by his wife, as to gratify his own vanity by 
having new reins fitted to his snaffle, in which he 
intended showing off the old mare at the approach- 
ing St. Stephen's day hunt. 

Charley did not get out of Fermoy until late ; 
for althou^ he was not one of your " nasty parti- 
cular sort of fellows" in any thing that related to 



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THB BBADLS»S I^OBBEHAN. ISfi 

the common occurrences of life, yet in all the ap- 
pointmcntB oonneeted with hunting, riding, lei^ 
ing, in short, in whatever was cannected with the 
old mare, "Gbatlej," the nddlen said, "was the 
derQ to plate" An illuitration of thia fikstidiou»- 
neas was afforded \ff his gt^ng such a distance for 
a snaffle toidle. Mallow was AiU twelve miks 
nearer CharleT's farm (which la^ just three quar- 
ters of a mile below Carrick) than Fermoy ; bat 
Chadey had quarrelled with all the Mallow sad- 
dlers, fAm hatd-WOTkiag and hard-drinking Tim 
dancey, up to Mister Ryan, who Wrote himself 
" Saddler to the Duhallow Hunt ;" and no oae 
could content him in all parttculars but honest 
Michael Twomey of Fermoy, who used to assert 
— and who will doubt it i — that he could stitch a 
saddle better than the lord-lieutenant, although 
they made him all as one as king orer Ireland, 

This delay in the arrangement of the snaffle 
bridle did not allow Charl^ Culnane to pay so 
long a visit as he had at iirst intended to his old 
iiiend and goMdp, Con Buckley, of the " Harp of 
Erin." Con, however, knew the value of time, and 
insisted upon Charley making good , use of what 
he had to spare. " I won't bother you waiting 
for water, Charley, because I think you '11 have 
enough of that same before yon get home ; so 
drink off your liquor, man. It 's as good parlia- 



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140 THE HEAPLE88 H0B8B1UN. 

Mcnf at ever a geotlemiui tasted, e.y, and holy 
choich to, for it will bear " x wateri," and cany 
the bead after that, may be." 

Chatlejr, it must be confessed, nothing loth, 
drank success to Con, and success to the jolly 
" Haip of £iin," with its head of beauty and its 
strings of the hair of gold, and to their better ac- 
quaintance, and so on, from the bottom of bis soul, 
until the bottom of the bottle reminded him that 
Carrick was at the bottom of the hill on the other 
side of Castletown Roche, and that he had got no 
further on his journey than his gossip's at Bally- 
hocdey, dose to the big gate of Convamore. Catch- 
ing hold of his oil-skin bat, tberefbre, whilst Con 
Buckley went to the cupboard for another bottle 
of " the real stuff," be regularly, as it is termed, 
bolted from his friend's hospitality, darted to the 
stable, tightened his girths, and put the old mare 
into a canter towards home. 

The road from Ballybooley to Carrick follows 
pretty nearly the course of the Blackwater, oc- 
casionally diverging from the river and passing 
through rather wild scenery, when contrasted with 
the beautiful seats that adorn its banks. Charley 
cantered gaily, regardless of the rain which, as his 
friend Con had anticipated, fell in torrents ; the 
good woman's currants and raisins were carefiilly 
packed between the folds of his yeomanry cloak. 



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THE BEADLESB HOKSBHAK. 141 

tvhich Charley, who wat proud of ibotving thitt 
he belonged to the " Royal Mallow Light Hone 
Volunteers," always strapped to the mddle beibre 
him, and took care never to destroy the military 
effect of by putting it on.^Away he went dnging 
like a thrush— 

" Sporting, belling, dandng, drinking, 
Bresldng' windows — (hiccup I J — siiUcing ; 
Ever raking — nerei thinking 

LiTe the rakes <^ Mallow. 

" Spending fester than it comes. 
Beating— (Aiccup, hie), and duns, 
Duhallow's true-begotten sons. 

Live the rakes of Mallow." 

Notwithstanding that the visit to the jolly "Harp 
of Erin" had a little increased the natural com- 
placency of his mind, the drenching of the new 
snaffle reins began to disturb him ; and then 
followed a train of more anxious thoughts than 
even were occasioned by the dreaded defeat of Ute 
pride of his long-anticipated turn out on St. Ste- 
phen's day. In an hour of good fellowship, when 
his heart was warm, and his head not over cool, 
Charley had backed the fAA. mare against Mr. 
Jepsoa's bay filly Desdemona for a neat hundred. 



142 THE HSADLEtS BOaSBHAN. 

and lie now felt tare misgivings as to the pru- 
dence of the match. la b lew gay tone he con- 
tinued 

" Living abort, but merry lives, 
Going where the devil drives, 
Keeping " 

" Keeping" he muttered, as the old mare had re- 
duced her cantet to a trot at the bottom of Kil- 
cummer Hill. Charley's eye fell on the old walls 
that belonged, in former times, to the Templars ,- 
but the silent g^oom of the ruin was broken only 
hy the heavy rain which splashed and pattered 
on the gravestooes. He then looked up at the 
sky W see if there was, among the clouds. Buy 
hopes for mercy on his new snaffle reins ; and no 
sooner were his eyes lowered, than his attention 
was arrested by an ol^ect so extraordinary as al- 
most led him to doubt the evidence of his senses. 
The head, apparently, of a white horse, with 
short cropped ears, large open nostrils, and im* 
mense eyes, seemed rapidly to follow him. No 
connexion with body, legs, or rider, could pos- 
sibly be traced — the head advanced — Charley's 
oUl mare, too, was moved at this unnatural sight, 
and, snorting violently, increased her trot up the 
hilL The head moved forward^ and passed on j 



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THE HBASLESS KOaSEHAN. 143 

Chuley pimuing it witli ostoniihed gue> and 
wondering by what meaai, and for what purpoM, 
tliis detached head thus proceeded through the air, 
did not perceive the conesponding hody until he 
was suddenly started b; finding it close at his 
side. Charley turned to examine what was thus 
so Booablj jogging on with hinij when a most 
unexampled apparition presented itself to his view. 
A figure, whose height (judging as well as the 
obscurity of the ni^t would permit him) he com- 
puted to be at least eight feet, was seated on the 
body and legs of a white hone full eighteen hands 
and a half high. In this measurement Charley 
could not be mistaten, for his own mare was ex- 
actly fifteen hands, and the body that thus jogged 
alangside he could at once detennine, from -his 
practice in horsefleA, was at least three hands 
and a half higher. 

Afler the first feeling of astonishment, which 
found vent in the esdamation " I 'm sold now for 
ever !" was over; the attention of Charley, being a 
keen sportsman, was naturally directed to this ex- 
tiaoidina^ body, and having exaonined it with 
the eye of a connoisseur, he proceeded to recon4 
noitre the figure so unusually mounted, who had 
hitherto remained perfectly mute. Wishing to 
see whether his companion's silence proceeded 
from bad temper, want of conversational powerii 



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Ill The hsadlebs HoasEHAN. 

AT from a diBtste to water, and the fear that the 
(^>eiuiig of his mouth might iuhject him to have 
it filled by the rain, which was then drifttog in 
violent gusts against them, Charley endeavoured 
to catch a sight of his companion's face, in order 
to form an opinion on that point. But hit vision 
&iled in carrying him tiirtfaer than the top of 
the collar of the figure's coat, which was a scarlet 
single-breasted hunting frock, having a waist of 
a very old fashioned cut reaching to the saddle, 
with 'two huge shining buttons at shout a yard 
distance behind. " I ought to see &rther than 
this, too," thought Charley, " although he is 
mounted on his hi^ horse, like my cousin Darly, 
who was made barony constable last week, unless 
'tis Ctm's whiskey that has blinded me entirely." 
However, see further he could not, and after 
straining his eyes for a conuderable time to no 
purpose, he exclaimed, with pure vexation, " By 
the big bridge of Mallow, it is no head at all he 

" Look again, Charley Culnane," said a house 
voice, that seemed to proceed from under the right 
arm'of the figure. 

Charley did look again, and now in the proper 
place, for he clearly saw, under the aforesaid ri^t 
arm, that head fiom which the voice had pro- 
ceeded, and such a head no mortal ever saw before. 



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THE BBADLSa* HOBBEUAK. 143 

It Itxiked like a large cream cheese hung KKind 
with black puddings : no speck of colour etJlTened 
the ashj paleness of the depfemed features ; the 
skin ley stretched over the unearthly surface, 
almost like the parohmeut head of a drum. Two 
fiery eyes of prodigioiiB circumference, with a 
strange and irregular motion, flashed like meteors 
upon Charley, and a mouth that reached f^om 
dther extremity ttf two ears, which peeped forth 
from under aprofiuiou of matted locks of lustre- 
leis hlackness. This head, which the figure had 
eridently hitherto concealed from Charley's eyes, 
now burst upon his view in all its hideouBness. . 
Chariey, although a lad of prorerbial courage 
iu the county Cork, yet could not hut feel his 
nerres a little shaken by this unexpected visit 
from the headless honeman, whom he considered 
this figure doubtless must be. The cropped-eared 
head of the gigantic horse mored steadily for- 
ward, always keeping from six to eight yards in 
advance. The horseman, unaided by whip or 
■pur, and disdaining the use of stirrups, which 
dangled uselessly from the saddle, followed at a 
trot by Charley's side, his hideous head now lost 
behind the lappet of his coat, now starting forth 
in all its horror as the motion of the horse caused 
his arm to more to and fro. The ground shook 
under the weight (€ its supernatural burthen, and 

FAST II. I- 



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146 THE BBADLBtS' BOBBHMAN. 

the wata in the poob wu sgitatad into wava m 
he trotted by them. 

On the^ went— heads witli bodieB,.Bnd bodiea 
without heads. — The deadly sileiice of night -wai 
brelen only by the feacEul dattoring of hoofi, 
and the distant sound of diunder, which mmtded 
above the mystic hill c£ Cecanne a Mona Fiimeai 
Charley, who was naturally a merry-heaited, and 
rather a talkative iellow, bad hitherto &lt tongue- 
tied 1:^ apprehension, bnt finding his compasitm 
showed no eril ditpotition towards him, and having 
becwne somewhat more reooaciled to the Fat^o- 
nian diatenaions of the horseman and hiabeadleu 
steed, plucked up aU bis courage, and thus ad- 
dressed the stranger — 

" Why, then, your honour rides nti^ty well 
without die Bdrmps !" 

" Humph," growled the head from under the 
horseman's right arm. 

"'Tis not an over dvU answer," thought Char- 
ley; " hut nq matter, he was taught in one of 
them riding-houses, may be, and thinkB nothing 
at all about bumping his leather Iveechee at the 
rate of ten miles an hour. I '11 try him on the 
other tack. Ahem !" said Charley, clearing bis 
ithroat, and feeling at the tame time rather daunted 
at this second attempt to establish a conversation. 
" Ahem ! that 's a mighty neat coat of your ho- 



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THE HEADLSIB HAftSSVAIf. 147 

hout'b, altkough 'tis a little too long in the waist 
for the present cut." 

" Humph," growled again the head. 

This second hmnph was a terrible thump In 
thefiice to poor Charley, who was fairly bothered 
to know what subject he could start that would 
[nore took ^reeahle. " *Tis a sensible head," 
thought Charley, " although an ugly one, for 'tis 
[dain enough the aian does not like flattery." 
A third attempt, however, Charley wa« deter- 
mined to m^e, and having failed in his observa- 
tions As to the riding and coat of his ftUow-tra- 
veller, thou^t he would just drop a trifling al- 
lusion to the wonderful headless horse, that was 
jigging on so sociably beside his old mare ; and 
as Charley was considered about Carrick to be 
vety Iraowing in horses, besides being a full pri- 
vate in the Rc^al Mallow Light Horse Volun- 
teers, which were everj' one of them mounted like 
real Hessians, he felt rather sanguine as to the 
result of his third attempt. 

" To be sure, that 's a brave horse your honour 
rides," recommenced the persevering Charley. 

" You may say that, with your own ugly 
mouth," grawled the head. 

Charley, though not much flattered by the com- 
pliment, nevertheless chuckled at his success in 
obtaining an answer, and thus continued ; 



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148 THE HEADLESS HOXSEHAN.' 

" May be ^our lumour wouldn't be after riding 
him acioBa the country ?" 

" Will you try me, Charley f" said the head, 
with an inexpressible look of ghastly delight. 

" Faith, and that '» what I *d do," responded 
Charley, " only I "m a&aid, the night being so 
dark, of laming the old mare, and I've every 
halfpenny of a hundred pounds on her heels." 

This was true enough, Charley's courage was 
nothing dashed at the headless horseman's pro- 
posal ; and there never was a steeple-«hase, nor a 
fos-chaee, riding or leaping in the country, that 
Charley Culnane was not at it, and foremost in it. 

" Will you take my word," goid the man who 
csrried his head so snugly under his rig^t arm, 
" for the safety of your mare i" 

" Done," said Charley ; and away they started, 
helter, skdter, over every thing, ditch and wall, 
pop, pop, the old mare never went in such style, 
even in broad daylight : and Charley had just the 
start of his companion, when the hoarse voice 
called out " Charley Culnane, Charley, num, stop 
for your life, etap !"" 

Charley pulled up hard. "Ay," said he, "you 
may beat me by the head, because it always goes 
so much before you ; but if the bet was neck-and- 
neck, and that 's the go between the oH mare and 
Desdemona, I 'd win it hc^ow I" 



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THE HBADLBSS HOSSBHAN. 149 

- It appeared as if the stranger was well awaie 
of what was passing in Charley's mind, for he 
suddenlj bn^e out quite loquacious, 

" Charley Culnane," says he, " you hare a stout 
soul in youj and are every inch of you a good rider. 
I 've tried you, and I ought to know ; and that 'a 
the sort of man fbr my money. A hundred years 
it is since my horse and I broke our necks at the 
bottom of Kilcummer hill, and ever since I haye 
been trying to get a man that dared to ride with 
me, and never fiiund one befiire. Keep, ,as you 
have a]wa}rs done, at the toil of the hounds, never 
baulk a ditch, nor turn away from a stone wall, 
and the headless horseman will never desert you 
nor the old mare." 

Charley, in amazement, looked towards the 
stranger's right arm, for the purpose of seeing 
in his ittce whether or not he was in earnest, but 
behold ! the head was snugly lodged in the huge 
pocket of the horseman's scarlet hunting<coat> 
The horse's head had ascended perpendicularly 
above them, and his extraordinary companion 
ri^g quickly after his avant courier, vanished 
from the astonished gaxe of Charley Culnane. 

Outrley, as may be supposed, was lost in won- 
der, delight, and perplexity; the pelting rain, the 
wife's pudding, the new snaffle — even the match 
againit squire Jepson — all were forgotten ; no- 



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ISO TBB HSAOLIH 'HOUBKAM* 

tbing could lie tbiak of, notblng conld he talk of, 
but tbe Leadlen luMveviiui. ' He toU it, directly 
that he got home, to Judy ; he told it the follmr* 
ing maroing to all the nei^boui; ; and be told 
it to the hunt oa St. St^oi'B day: but what 
plWFoked him &fiec .all the pains ho took in de- 
, scrilaag the bead,. tbe bonO] wid the man, was, 
that one and all , attdbuted the .creation of the 
headleaa honeman to his, friend Coo Buckley's 
" X watei periiament." This, however, should 
be told,, that Cbarlsy'a old mare heat Me. Jepeon'i 
bay filly, Deadeinosai by Diunmid, and Chadey 
pocketed his cool bundled i and if he didn't win 
l^ means of tba' beadlesa hoReman. I am sure I 
don't know any other reason for his doing so. 



It baa been alieady mentioiied that Grom Jette, 
the wild huntsman, nnially rides with his bead under 



Cerrnntes mentiona tales of tbe Cabaila tin cabeqa 
among the cuentot de viyai con que u entTetienea al 
faego lot dSatadas noches del inviemo. In the-early 
part of the last century the headless horse was not 
unknown in Englsiid. The Spectator^No. lie) says 
— " iij biend the butler desired me, with a rery 
grave fscB, not to veBtiiM myself in it" (the, wood), 
f aft«r Bunaet, for that oae <rf th^ footOMn bad been 



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IBB BBASLXaa HOBseifAlf. 151 

almost fiigbtened out of hia witi bjr a ifririt that bad 
appeared to him in the diape of a black bone widxnt 
ahead." 

The bona,- prabablyj like the dcg, on aceount of 
oar iBtiraaoy with him, i« a favourite actor in pqpidu' 
AuperBlition. The fol1o¥ri)% ttory from UeeTue of 
TilbvTf exbibita. him in one of hia inildcat and mart 
b«Mfieent appeannoes : 

. ■■ Eit 'in Anglia quoddam dBmonom gcmu qnod 
sua idiOBstv Giaqt- nomteant^ ad initar palU eqnini 
jumiculi/tibiisereatmi^'oeHlitacindUantibuB. Islad 
.dttmmmngennactpiMiBw^anparetin [dalcia, inip> 
dntdiciiiarvouisutdiEa-KriiiocaidiHnn, Etqootin 
■pFaiatfntanmt: in urbe''Ula.'Tel Tko portendit io- 
ttndiDnk . Cam ei^, aeqninte die vel noeta,' inatat 
pericnliun, in platn dttcusaa facto ca^ei pnwocat ad 
latiandum, et dum liigam Bimulat Bequentea canea 
ad insaywwdiwD RpeTmaooMaqiiMidi invibrt. Hu- 
jnimodi illmio conncaneii de ignis ctutodia cantelam 
litdt, et hie offidorom dsemonuin genua, dum conspi- 
denles t^ret,suo adventnmuiiiie igoorantea Bolet."— 
C. 88. 

In Denmark an extraordinary cuatom prevailed of 
bntying a live animal— a bone, a Iamb, a pig, and 
even a child— at the eommencnncmt of a building. 
It is strange that a nmilar custom aj^iean, from the* 
Servian Ballads, to have prevailed among the Sl»- 
vonians. A lamb was generally entombed in the 
foundation of a chnrdi ; a horse in that of the church- 
yaid. This horae, the pensanta »y, appear* again and 



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153 THB HEADI.Bt8 H0B8EMAH. 

goes round the chnrdiyanl <m three ]egi ; when be 
meets any one he display! hia grinning teeth — and 
death accompanies him. He is therefore called the 
ir«UMf *, the death-hoTBc ; anditiintualforaperaon 
on recorerii^ from a fit of aickness, to say—" I hare 
giren Death a bushel of oatB." Keyaler (Antiq. Sept 
et Celt. p. 181) eays ; " In ducatu SleBvicensi ea ni- 
peratitio eUamnumohtiDet, at Hel dicant mortem vel 
apectnun tempore pestia equo (qui tribus tannun pe- 
dibus incedit} ineqnitans morlalesqne tniddans. Vico 
Tel oppido fataU hoc conta^o afflato Tulgna ait Helam 
circnmire Uer HeU geht mnktr. Canes etiam turn ab 
ea inqnietari indicant fbrmula Dtr ffeli itt beg deneii 
■Bunden." This last drcnmstance reminds us of the 
elasuc Hecate, the rest of the sublime apparition of 
Death on his pale horse in the Apocalypse. 

• Hct <ru Iba PluM of tlu uicknt Scud&HTlwt. 



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FAIRY LEGENDS. 

THE FIE DAKRIG. 




Whene'n sudi wuHleren I meete, 

Aa fimn th^ night^poita Ihcy ttudge bmax. 
With oounterfnliiig vmee I gnet«, 
And eaU ibon aa, with me to loatne 
Tbnni^ mxidi, ihnm^ Ukn, 
TluDngh bog*, thioiigfa brak«a ] 
Oi «1k, nnaceDe, with Uieni I go, 
AH in the nkke. 
To play Bome nickc, 
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho t 

Old Sohq- 



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DIARMID BAWN, THE PIPER, 

Onb stormy sight Ftttric^ Binle was seaCed 
in the chinuiey comer, snu^ing his pipe quite 
contentedly oAer hn bard day's work ; hia two 
little boys were roaating potatoes in the ashes, 
while his rosy daughter held a splinter * to hei 
KOther, who, seated on a desteen t, was mending 
a THit in Patrick's old coat ; and Judy, the maid, 
was singing menily to the sound of bet whed, 
that kept up a beautiful humming noise, just like 
ib» sweet dione of a b^pipe. -Indeed they all 
seemed quite contented and happy ; for the storm 
bowled witheatj and they were warm and snug 
within, bj the side of a blazing turf fire. " I 
was just thiiiklBg,'' said Patrick, taking tlie dn-' 

* A aplinter, oi itip of tx^-dcBl, vhii^, being dipped in 
tiUo*, ii and UK omdle. 

t SlaMMHii « low bloiAJika tai, made of nav Iwwb 
iifiy jcvtdjs Jxwuid.wigcilw. . 



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156 D1ARXIS BAWM, TBS PIPBB. 

deen from his nunitli and giving it a rap on his 
thumb-nail to shake out the ashes — " I was just 
thinking how thankful we ought to be to have a 
snug hit of a cabin this pelting night over out 
heads, for in all m; bom days I never heard the 
like of it," 

" And that 's no lie for you. Fat," said his wife ; 
" but, whisht ! what noise is ihat I hard ?" and 
she dropped her work upon her knees, and looked 
fearftilly towards the door. " The Fargin herself 
defend us all !" cried Judy, at the same time ra- 
pidly making a pious sign on her forehead, " if 
'tis not the hanshee 1" 

" Hold yout tongue, you fool," said Patrick, 
" it 's only the old gate swinging in the wind ;" 
and he had sparcely, spoken, when the door was 
assailed by a violent knocking. Molly began to 
mumUe ber prayers, and Judy proceeded to mut- 
ter over the muster-roll of saints ; the youngsters 
scampered off to hide themselves behind the settle- 
bed; the storm howled louder and mcoe fiercely 
dian ever, and the rapping was renewed with re- 
doubled Violence. 

" Whisht, w&isht !" said Patrick — " what a 
noise ye 're all making about nothing at olL Judy 
B roon, can't you go and see who 's at the door ?" 
for, notwithstanding his assumed bravery. Fat 



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DIABMID BAWN, THE PIPER. 157 

Burke prefixied that the maid should open the 
door. 

" Why, then, is it me you 're speaking to ?" 
said Judy, in the tone of astonishment ; " and is 
it cracked mad you ore. Mister Burke; or is it, 
maybe, that you want me to be mnd away with, 
uid made a horse of, like my grandfather was ?— 
the sorrow a step will I stir to open the door, if 
you were as great a man again as you are, Pat 
Burke." 

" Bother you, then ! and hcdd your tongue, and 
I '11 go myself," So saying,- up got Patrick, and 
made the best of his fray to the door. ' " Who 's 
there ?" said he, and his Voice trembled mightily 
all the while- " In the name of Saint Patrick, 
who 's there f" " 'Tis I, Pat," answered a Toioe 
which he immediately knew to be the young 
squire's. In a moment the door was opened, and 
in walked a young man, with a gun In his hand, 
and a brace of dogs at his heels. " Your honour's 
honour is quite welcome, entirely," said Patrick ; 
who was a very civil sort of a fellow, especially 
to his betters. " Your honour's honour is quite 
welcome ; and if ye 11 be so condescending as to 
demean yourself 1^ taking off your wet jacket, 
Molly can give ye a bran new blanket, and ye can 
sit foreoent the fire while the clothes are drying." 



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158 DIA-RHID BAWH, THE PIFEB'. 

" Thank yoa, Pat," nid tiie squiie, ai he wttipt 
himself, like Mr. Weld, in the proffered blanket. ^* 

" But what made you keep me bo long at the 
door?" 

" Why, then, your hoaour, 'twas all along of 
Judy, there, being bo muoh afr^d of the good 
peo^e; and a good right ihe has, after what hap- 
pened to her gnmd&thwi — the Lord rest his soul !" 

" And what wba that. Fat }" said the sc[tiire. 

" Why, then, your honour must know that 
Judy had a granfi^her; and he was ovld Diar- 
mid Bawn, the" jnper, as peraooahle a lookiug man 
osany in the fire puidifes he was; and he Gonld 
play the pipes bo sweetly, and m^ike ^em tpake 
to such perfection, that it did one's heart good to 
hear him. We never had any one, for that matter, 
in this sde of the country like him, before or since, 
except James Gandsey, that is own piper to Lturd 
Headly — ^hii hononr's lordship is the reed good gen- 
tleman — and 'tis Mr. Oandsey's music that is the 
pride of Killarney lakes. Well, as I was saying, 
Diarmid was Judy's grandfather, and he rented a 
small mountainy farm ; and he was walking about 
the fields one moonlight night, quite melanchofy- 
like in himself for want of the Tobaccg; because, 
why, the river was flooded, and he could not get 
■ See WeU'B KSiniKj, Sto cd. p. 220. 



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SUKHID BAVN} THE PIPER. 159 

acHMS to bny any, and Dminud would rather go 
to bed without his supper than a whiff of the 
dadeen. Well, your honour, just u he came to 
the old fort in the far field, what should he see f 
— 4lie LDrdfBCBarre ua I — but a large army of the 
good people, 'couta<ed for all the world just like 
the dragocRis ! ' Are ye all ready P' said a little feU 
lo>w at their head diuKid out like a general. 'No;* 
said a little cuimudgeon of & chap all drewed in 
red, &Dm the crown of his cocked hat to the sole 
a£ his boot. ' No, general,' said he ; 'if you 
don't get the Fir danig a horse he must stay i»- 
hind, and ye 11 lose the battle." 

"' ' There 's Disnnid Bawn,' said the general, 
pointing to Judy's grandfather, your honour, 
' make a horse of him.' 

" So with that master Fir darrig comes up to 
Diormid, who, you may be «ire, was in a mighty 
gr^t &ight ; but he determined, seeing there was 
no help for him, to pat a bold face on the matter; 
and BO he begaa to cross himself, and to say some 
Uessed wimis, that nothing bad could stand bef<H«. 
" ' Is that what you 'd be after, you spalpeen ?' 
said the little red imp, at the same time grinning 
a horriUe grin ; ' I 'm not the man to care a straw 
fon either your words or your crossings.' S«>, with" 
out more to do, he gives poor Diarmid a rap with 
the fiat ^de of his aw(»rd, and in a moment he was 

t 



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160 DIABHID BAWK, THE PIPES. 

cbang^ into a hoise, with little Fir dBnig stuck 
fiut on his back. 

" Away they all flew over tlie wide ocean, like 
to many wild geese, gcreaming and cliattering all 
the time, till they came to Jamaica ; and there 
they had a murdering fi|^t with the good pei^le 
of that country. . Well, it was all very weH with 
them, and they stuck to it ma nf ully, and fought 
it ought furly, 'till one of the Jamaica men made 
a cut wiUi his Bword under Diarmid'a left eye, 
and then, sir, you tee, poor Diarmid loat his tem- 
per entirely, and he daihed into the very middle 
of them, with Fir dairig mounted up on his back, 
and he threw out his heels, and he whisked his 
tall about, and wheeled and turned round and 
round at such a rate, that he soon made a fair 
detu^nce of them, horse, foot, and dragoons. At 
last, Diarmid's faction got the better, all through 
hb means J and then they had such feasting and 
rejoicing, and gave Diarmid, who was the finest 
horse amongst them all, the best of every thing. 

" ' Let every man take a hand of Tobaccy for 
Diarmid Bawn,' said the general; and so they 
did ; and away th^ flew, for 'twas getting near 
morning, 'to the old fbrt back again, and there 
they vanished like the mist from the mountmn, 

" When Diarmid looked about the sun was 
rising, and he thought it was all a dream, till he 



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raABHID BAWN, THE FIPEK. 161 

saw a big rick of Tobaccy in the cdd fort, and felt 
the hlood running from his left ey6 ; tat sure 
Aiough he wu wounded in the battU, and would 
have been kiU entirelj', if it wasn't for a gotpel 
composed \fj father Murphjr that hung about his 
neck ever since he had the scarlet t&ret ; and for 
certain, it was enough to have given him another 
scarlet fever to have had the little red man all 
night on his back, whip and spur for the bare life. 
However, there was the Tobaccy heaped up in a 
great lieap by his side ; and he beard a voice, al- 
though he could see no one, telling him, ' That 
'twas all his own, for his good behaviour in the 
battle ; and that whenever Fir darrig would want 
a horse again he 'd know where to find a clever 
beast, as he never rode a better than Diarmid 
Bawn.' That "s what he said, sir." 

" Thank you, Pat," said the squire ; " it cer- 
tainly is a wonderful story, and I am not sur- 
prised at Judy's alarm. Bat now, as the storm 
is over, and the moon shining brightly, 1 11 make 
the best of my way home." So saying, he dis- 
robed himself of the blanket, put on his coat, and, 
whistling his dogs, set ofTacnns the mountain;' 
.while Patrick stood at thq door, bawling aft^r 
him, " May God and the blessed Virgin presove 
your honour, and keep ye from the good people ; 

FAXT u. K 



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168 DIAXUID VAWN, THETIPS&. 

for 'twas of a moonlig&t night Mke diii that Diar- 
mid Bs#n was made aliorse of, for die Fir darrig 
to ride. 



Fir Dan^, correcdy -written, fear dearg, means the 
red man, and ia a memberof the fairy tribeof Ireland, 
who bears a great reaerabUnce to the Pack or Robio 
Goodfellow of ShakBpeare'a days. Like that merry 
goblin, hia delight is in mischief and mockery ; and 
numberlesa are the wild and whimsical stories in which 
he figures Although the German Kobolds partake 
of the good-natured chsiactei of the people, yet the 
celebrated Hinzelman occdnonally amused himself 
with playing tricks somewhat similar to those of roaBier 
Fir darrig. 

The red dress and alrange flexibility of voice pos- 
sessed by the Fir darrig form hia peculiar character- 
istics ; the latter is said, by Irish tale-tell^s,- to be as 
Fuaim na dtonn, the sound of the waves; and again it 
is compared to Ceol na n-Ungeal, the music of angek ; 
CeiUabhar na nean, the warbling of birds, &c. ; and 
the iisual address to this fairy is, Na dean fochmoid 
fainn, do not mock us. His entire dress, when he is 
seen, is invariably described as crimson ; whereas, the 
fairies generdly appear in Ifaia dubh, cnlaigk ghlat, 
ttocaigh bana, agm broga deargd ; a black hat, a green 
suit, white stockings, and red shoes. 



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DIAIHID BAWX, THE PIPBH. 1,63 

The tnuuformstiim of Kamud into • bone ii no 
uncominon one. Circe used to tnnsmale people hj 
hundredB. Queen Labe and Co. in the Anbiin 
NigfatB wen eqiuU; expert at mctamorphow* ; a 
hone, bf-the-bje, was the verj focm that queen gave 
king Beder, who, however, had pre vioiulj tnosfonned 
bet majesty into a mare. King Carpaliui, too, in the 
old ronaaee oFOgier le Dannoys, wai condemned to 
■pend three hundred jtan in the farm of a bone, for 
the teaifltance he made to king Ardiur in Fairy land. 

Diaimid Bawn dgnifiei nhit« or fair Edward. " A 
Goqiel," towhichheowethispreserTationiathefairy 
fight, ia a test of tcripture written in a particnlar 
manner, and which hai Iwen blessed by a priest. It 
ia sewed in red cloth, and hung round the neck M a 
cure or preventive against various diseases. Sec, Few 
Irish pessanta will be found without " a gospel ;" OT, 
as in the vicinity of Holy Cross, a blessed string, a 
blessed stone, or a blessed bit of wood, about their per> 
sons, which they consider to be an in&Uible safeguard 
against evil. Indeed, the popular mind at the pre- 
MUt moment is full as credulous in these matters a* it 
was nearly two centorie* since, when lord Bn^ill 
captured a *^ peckfol of spells and charms" among the 
baggage, after defeating Iwd Muakerry. 



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TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 

" I can't stop in the house — I won't stop in it 
for all the monejr that is buried in the old castle 
of Curigrohan. - If ever there was such a thing 
in the world ! — to be abused to mj tiwe night and 
day, and nobodj to the fore doing it ! and then, 
if I 'm angry, to be laughed at with a great roar- 
ing ho, ho, ho I I won't stay in the house after 
to-night, if there was not another place in the 
country to put my head under." ITiis angry soli- 
loquy was pronounced in the hall of the old manorr 
house of Carrigrohan by John Sheehan. John was 
a new servant ; he had been only three days in the 
-house, which had the character of being haunted, 
and in that short space of time he had been abused 
and laughed at, by a voice which sounded as if a 
man spoke with his head in a cask ; nor could he 
discover who was the speaker, or from whence 
the voice came. " I '11 not stop here," said John ; 
" and that ends the matter." 

" Ho, ho, ho ! be quiet, John Sheehan, or else 
worse will happen to you." 

John instantly ran to the hall window, as the 



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TEIGUE OF THE LBB. 165 

words were evidently spoken I7 a pencnt linme>' 
diatety outside, but no one was viuU& He bad' 
scarcely placed bis face at tbe pvie of ^ass, when 
be beard another loud " Ho, ho, ho !" as if behind 
bim in the hallj aa quick as lightning he turned 
his bead, but no living thing was to be seen. 

"■ Ho, bo, ho, John !" shouted a voice that ap- 
peared to crane from the lawn before the bouse ; 
"do you think you'll see Teigue?^-ob, never! 
as long as you live ! so leave alone looking e&tx 
bim, and mind your business; there's plenty of 
cwDpany to dinner from Cork to be bere to-day, 
and 'tis tiine you had the cloth laid." 

" Lord Uess us ! there's more of it j— 1 11 never 
stay another day here," repeated John. 

" Hold your tongue, and stay where you are 
quietly, and play no tricks on Mr. Pratt, as you 
did on Mr. Jervois about the spoons." 

John Sheehan was confounded, by this oddrew 
fhnri his invisiUe perteeutor, but nevertheless he 
mustered courage enou^ tosay^" Who are you ? 
— come bere, and let me see you; if you ore a man ;" 
hut he received in reply only a laugh ,of Unearthly 
derision, which was followed by a" Good bye — 
I 'II watch you at dinner, John !" ■ 
; " Lord between us and barm I ; this' beats allr! 
c— 1 11 watch you at dinner !-^maybe you Will ;— ; 
'Jjs^he broad day-light, so 'tis no ghost ; tut this 



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166 TEiens of the lee. 

is a terrfttle jAace, and this is the last day I 'U ita; 
. in it. How doa he know nbout the Bpoom? — if 
t^e tells it, I "m a ruiaed mati I — there was no 
living soul could bjll it to him but Tim Beirett, 
and he 'b far enough off in the wildi of Botany 
Bay now, bo how cAuld he know it-^I can't tell 
for the wcvld ! But what 's that I see there at 
the comer of the wall '. — 'tis not a man ! — 6b, what 
A fool I un ! tis (Hily the old sturap of a tree 1 — But 
this is a shoeing [diice — 1 11 never stop in it, for 
I 'U leave the house to-moRow ; the very look of 
it is enou^ to frif^ttea any one." 

The mansion had certainly an air of desolation ; 
it was situarted in a'bwn, wUch had nothing to 
break its ui^fbrm level, save a few tufts of uar- 
oissuses and a CoOple of flld- trees coeval with the 
building. The house stood at & short distance 
from the road, it was upwards of a century c^, 
and Time was doing his work Upon it ; its walls 
were weather-stained in all colciurs, its roof showed 
various white patches, it had no look of comfort { 
all was dim and dingy -without, and within there 
was an- air- of ' gloom, of departed and departing 
greatness, which' harmonised well with the ex- 
terior. It required all the exuberance of youth 
and of gaisty to remove the Impression, almost 
•mounting to awe.with which vou trvd Ae hsge 
square hall, paced along the. gallery which ant- 



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TEIGDE OF THE LEX. 16T 

rounded the hall, or explored the long rambling 
passages below stain. The h«ll-rooip> as the large 
drawing-room was calledj and Kverol other apart- 
ments were in a state of decay ; the walls were 
stained with damp, and I remember well the sensa- 
tion of awe which I. felt creeping over me when, 
bay as Z was, and fiill of boyish lifct and wild and 
'ardent spirits, I descended to the vaults ; all wi&- 
out and within me became chilled beneath their 
dampness and gloom^ — their extent, too, terrified 
me ; nor could the merriment of my two schooL- 
feUows, whose lather, a respeotalde clergjnun, 
rented the dwelling for a tame, dispel the feeling 
of a romantic imsginatipn until I once again 
ascended to the upper regions. 

John had pretty well recovered hinuelf as the 
dinner-hour approached, and aeyeral guests as- 
rived. They were all seated at table, and bad 
begun to enjoy die excellent repast^ when a voice 
was heard in the lawn. 

" Ho, ho, ho, Mr. Pratt, won't you give poor 
Teigue some dinner? ho, ho, a fine company 
you have there, and plenty of every thing that's 
good ; sure you won't forget pom; Teigue?" 

John dropped the g^ass he had in liia hand. 

" Who is that ?" ^aid Mr. Piatt's bn)lher,.an 
officer <d the artilleiy. . 



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168 TEIGUE OF THE LSE. 

" That is Teigue," said Mr. Pratt, haighiag; 
" whom you must often have heard me mention." 
" And pray, Mr. Pratt," inquired another gen- 
tleman, " who U Teigue f" 

■ " That," he replied, " is more than I can tell. 
No one has ever been able to catch even s glimpse 
of him. I have been on the watch for a whole 
evening with three of raj sons, yet, although iut 
.voice sometimes sounded almost in my ear, I could 
not see him. I fancied, indeed, that I saw a man 
in a white friese jacket pass into the door from 
the garden to the lawn, but it eould be only fancy, 
for I found the door locked, while the fellow, 
whoever he is, was laughing at our trouble. He 
visits us occasionally, and sometimes a long In- 
terval passes between his visits, as in the present 
case ; it is now nearly two yeam since we heard 
that hollow voice outside the window. He has 
never dcoie any injury that we know of, and once 
^ivben he broke a plate, he brought one back exactly 
like it." 

" It is very extnumlinary," said several of the 
compuiy. 

" But," remarked a gentleman to young Mr. 
Pratt, " your father said he Imike a plate ; how 
dij he get it without your seeing him?" 

" When he asks for some dinner, we put it 



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TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 169 

outside the window and go awajr; whiUt we 
watch he will not take it, but no sooner have we 
withdrawn than it is gone." 

" How does he know that you are watching?" 
" That 's more than I can tell, but he either 
knows or suspects. One day my brothers Robert 
and James with myself were in our back parlour, 
which has a window into the garden, when he 
came outside aod said, ' Ho, ho, ho ! master James, 
and Robert, and Henry, g]Te:poor Teigue a ^an 
of whiskey.' James went out of the room, filleda 
glass with whiskey, vinegar, and salt, and brought 
it to him. ' Here, Teigue,' said be, ' come for it 
now.' ' Well, put it down, then, on the step out- 
side the window.' This was done, and we stood 
looking at it. ' There, now, go away,' he shouted. 
We retired, but still watched it. ' Ho, ho 1 you 
are watching Teigue ; go out of the room,' now, 
or I won't take it.' We went outode the docv 
and returned, the glass was gone, and a moment 
after we heard him roaring and cursing fri^t- 
fuUy. He took away the glass, but the next day 
the glass was on the stone step under the window, 
and there were crums of bread in the inside, as if 
he . had put it in his pocket ; ^rom that time he 
was not heard till to-day." ' 

, '1 Oh," said the colonel, " 1 11 get a sight of . 
him; you are not used to these things; an (dd 



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ITO 'i:eigue of the leb. 

soldier has tbe best cliaiice, ftnd as I shall &iish 
my dinoer with this wing, 1 11 be ready for him 
when he speaks next. — Mr. Bellj will you take a 
glass of wine with me ?" 

" Ho, ho ! Mr. Bell," shouted Teigue. " Ho, 
ho ! Mt. Bell, you were a quaker long ago. Ho, 
ho ! Mr. Bdl, you 're a pretty boy j — a pietqr 
quaker you were ; and now you 're no quaker, 
nor any thing else : — ho, ho I Mr. Bell. And 
there 's Mr. Farkes : iti be .sure, Mr. Parkes looks 
mi^ty fineithday, widi his powdered head, and his 
grand silk stot^jngs, and his bran new rakish-red 
wiustcoat. — And thoe 's Mr. Cede,— did you ever 
see such a fellow? a pretty company you 'velovught 
together, Mr. PraU : kiln-dded quakets, butter- 
buying buc^ecns &mn Mallow-lane, and a drinking 
exciseman from the Coal-quay, ta meet the great 
thundering artillery-geHeral that is oome out of 
the Indies, and is the biggest dust of them alL" 

" You scoundrel !" extJaimed the ctdond : " 111 
make you dtow yourself;" and snatching up his 
sword from a Eomer, of the. room, he sprang out 
1^ the window upon the lawn. In a moment a 
shout of laughter, so hoUow/Bo unlike any human 
sound, made him stop, as well as Mr. Bell, who 
with a hu^ oak stick was dose at the colonel's 
heels ; others of the party followed oa the Jawn, 
aod the iBmaindcx rose and went to thewijidiMvi. 



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TEIOUE OF THE LEE. 171 

"Come on, cdoael," said Mr. Bell; " let ub catch 
dii> impudent rascal." 

" Ho, ho I Mr. Bell, here I am — here 'ft Teigue 
— ^wlif don't you catch him? — Ho, ho! colonel 
Pratt, what a prcttj Boldiei you aie to diaw your 
■word apon poor Teigue, tiiat never did any body 

" Z«et.uB see your face, you acoundrel," aaid the 
cdonel. 

" Ho, ho, ho ! — ^look at me — look at me : do 
yon see the wind, - colonel Pratt i — you '11 see 
Teigue as soon ; so go In and finish your dinner." 

"If you 're upon the earth I 'llfind you, youvil- 
Un I" said the caLonel, whilst the same unearthly 
shmtt of densicm seemed to ctme from behind an 
an^ of the huilding. "He'sTmindthatcomeri"- 
laid Mr. Bell — " run, run." 

They followed the sound, which Tun continued 
at interrals almg the garden wall, but could dis- 
corer no human bting; at last both stepped to 
draw breath, and in an instant, almost at their 
ears, sounded the shout. 

" Ho, ho, ho 1 colimel Prattjdo you see Teigue 
now ?-^o you hear him ?— Ho, ho, ho !. you 'Je 
a fine colonel to follow the wind." 

" Not that way, Mr. Bell — not that mty ; come 
here," said the cokneL 

" Ho, ho, ho 1 what a fool you are ; do you 



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172 TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 

think Teigue is going to aliow himself to jou in- 
th«i iield, there ? But, colonel, follow me if jw 
can : — ^ou a soldier I — ho, ho, ho I" The colonel 
was enraged — be followed the voice over hedge- 
and ditch, alteroately laughed at and taunted by 
the unseen object of his pursuit — (Mr. Bell, who 
was heavy, was soon thrown out), until at length,, 
after bmng led a weary chase, he found himself 
at the top of the difi*, over that part of the river 
Lee which, iiom its great depth, and the Mtn-VnuM 
of its water, has received the name of Hell-hole. 
Here, on the edge of the diff, stood the colonel 
out of breath, and mopping his forehead with his 
handkerchief, while the voice, which seemed close 
at bis feet, exclaimed — " Now, colonel Pratt — 
now, if you're a soldier, here's a leap. for you ;^ 
now look at Teigue — why don't you look at him ? 
— Ho, ho, ho! Come along; you're warm, I'm 
sure, colonel Pratt, so come in and cool yourself; 
Teigue is going to have a swim!" The voice seemed 
as descending amongst the trailing ivy and farush- 
wood which clothes this picturesque cliff nearly 
from top to bottom, yet it was impossible that any 
humun being could have found footing. '. " Now, 
colonel, have you courage to take the leap i — Ho,- 
ho, ho ! . what a pretty soldier you are. Goodbye 
— I '11 see you again in ten minutes above, at the 
bouse — look at your watch, colonel: — there's a 



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TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 178 

Sire for joa ;" and a heaTj plunge into the water 
was heard. The colonel stood still, hut no sound 
followed, and lie walked slowly back to the iionse, 
not quite half a mile from fhe Crag." 

" Well, did you see Telgue ?" said his toother, 
whilst bis nephews, scarcely able to smother tbeir 
laughter, stood by. — " Give me some wine," said 
the colonel. " I never was led . such a dance in 
my life ; the fellow carried me all round and 
round, tUl he brought me to the edge of the cliff, 
and then down he went into Hell-hole, telling me 
he'd be here in ten minutes : 'tis more than that 
now, but he 's not come." 

" Ho, ho, ho ! colonel, isn't he here ? — Teigue 
aerer told a lie in his life : but, Mr. Pratt, give 
me a drink and my dinner, and then good night 
to you all, for I 'm tired ; and that 's the colonel's 
doing." A plate of food was ordered; it was 
placed by John, with fear and trembling, on the 
lawn under the window. Every one kept on the 
watch, and the plate remained undisturbed for 

" Ah ! Mr. Pratt, will you starve poor Teigue ? 
Make every one go away from the windows, and 
master Henry out of the tree, and master Richard 
off the garden wall." 

The eyes of the company were turned to the 
tree and the garden wall ; the two boys' attention 



1T4 TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 

«u OGca[ned in getting down; tlie vinton weie 
looking at them ; and ." Ho, ha, ho,!>--good luck to 
you, Mr. Pratt I — 'tig a good dinner, and there 's 
the plate, ladiea and gentlemen — good-bye to you, 
colonel ! — good-lye, Mr. Bell ! — good-bye to you 
all" — brought their attention hack, when they raw 
the empty plate lying oa the grau ; and Teigue's 
voice was heard no more for that evening. Many 
Tints were afterwards paid by Teigue ; but never 
was he seen, nor was any discovery ever made of 
hiA perKm or character. 



The pranks of Teigae resemble those related by 
Gerrtse of Tilbury of the spirit called FoUet, wliich 
he describes as inhabiting the booses of igtiorant rus- ' 
tics, and whose esordsms fail In banishing him. He 
says of the FoIIeUw : 

" Verba utique humuto more audiuntur et effigies 
non coicpsrent. De is^ pleraquemiracuU memini me 
an vila abbreviaia et miramdit beatiitimi Antonii repe- 
ritte." — Otia Imperalia, p. 897. 

Their voices may be heard in human fashion, but 
their form is not visible. 1 remember to have resd a 
great many marvels about them in the short life and 
miracles of the blessed Anthony. 

The evening previous to sending this note to press, 
it was the writer's good fortune to meet rnqor Percy 



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TEIGDS OF THE LEE. 175 

Pratt) M)D of the coloiiel (sftenratdB general) Pratt 
mentioDed in the tale, who related to Bir WiUiain 
Beetham, and repeated to him, all the particuUra of 
jhia atnmge atorj. Several reapeetable peraoDs in the 
aoaih of Ireland hare favonred him irith accoimta of 
Teigne, hut they are lo nearly similar that it be- 
comes mmecessar; to give them. One of these ao- 
counta, however, received from Mr. Neirenbam de U 
Conr, contains Home few circumataDcea which have 
been omitted in the foregoing relation : 

" I never heard/' writea Mr. de la Conr, " of a more 
ftumiliar goblin than Teigue, Hia visit generally com- 
menced with a civil Mlutaticm lo tlie master of the 
bouse, which was quickly foUowed by an application 
for a glaaa of whiakey ; but no human creatnre could 
be seen or found in the quarter jrom whence the voice 
proceeded. These viiitB were uiually rqteated once 
a week ; somelinies, however, a month or more elapsed 
between them. If any friend came to dine or to itay 
at the house for a few daya, Teigue waa sure to be 
heard in the evening accosting them in a very courteona 
manner, inquiring after the difibient membera of their 
family, and often mentioning domestic occurrenCM 
with a surprising intimacy. If a stranger happened 
to excel in mnaic, this conld not escape the penetration 
of Teigue, who teemed to be fbmiliar with every per. 
wn'a acquirements and habits ; and he invariably re- 
qnested the miwioian to play or sing. A young lady 
from You^all was once called on by Teigue to favour 
Um wiUi a tone : she aat down to the pianoforte all 



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1T6 TEIGUE OF THE LEE. 

tetr and treinbUiig. When she had ooncloded, Tdgae 
applauded her perfonuance, and uid, in letum, be 
would treat her to a aong to the beet of his ability. 
He aceordinglf Bung, with a most tremendous voice, 
'My TiHme is Teigue, and I lives iu state;' a bom- 
potdtion well known in the south of Ireland. 

" Several cleverly csncerted plans have been formed 
for the discovery of this strange being, yet they all 
failed of their otgect. Two different and contradictory 
opinions prevail respectiDg Teigue : some people re- 
port him to be a giant, others a dwarf; the fbrmer 
opinion is founded on the following drcninitance ; — 
Amongst the ingenious methods devised for deciding 
whether the voice might be that of a mortal man or a 
goblin was the plan of strewing carefully some fine 
ashes at twilight before the windows. That night 
Teigue was unusually noisy without ; and the next 
morning early, when the place was inspected, the print 
of one firat only, of auperhuraan dimensions, was found. 
The notion of hie being a dwarf rests on no less an 
authority than Teigue himself. He fluently styled 
himself Teigueen, or little Teigue; yet this diminu- 
tive may be nothing more than a pet name. But on 
one occasiw, when some guests expressed their sur- 
prise that master Teigue bad never been caught, this 
curious being replied, ' 'Tis to no use at all, gentle- 
men, you 're thinking of catching poor Teigueen, for 
he is no bi^^ than your thumb 1' All those who 
have heard him spsak agree in this, that the sound of 
his voice was not in.the least like that of ordinary mor- 



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TEIGDE OP THE LEK. • 177 

tals; it resembled, the; said, that hollow houw kind 
of vdce emitted by a man speaking with his head (a* 
a gallant EnglUh officer has deacribed itj inchMed in 
an tmptjf caak." 

Connected with the belief of Bupematural voices, a 
common superBtitioiiB notion may be worth mention- 
ing here. It ia popularly believed in Ireland, and 
possibly in other countries, that when a friend or re- 
latire dies a warning voice is heu^, and the greater 
the apace between the partiea the more certain the 
sound. The following is an attempt at translating 
an Irish song founded on this idea, which is aung to a 
singularly wild and melancholy air : 

A low sound of song from the distance I hear. 
In the silence of night, breathing sad on my ear 1 
^VTience comes it ? I know not — unearthly the note. 
And unearthly the tones through the air as they float ; 
Yet it sounds like the lay that my mother once sang. 
As o'er faer first-bom in his cradle she bung. 

Long parted from her, far away from her home, 
.'Mong people ttiat speak not her language I roam : 
Is it she that sends over the billowy sea 
Thia low-breathing mnrmnr of aadneaa to me ! 
What gives it the power thus to shake me with dread i 
Does it say, that sad voice, that my mother is dead? 



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NED SHEEHY'S EXCUSE. 

N£D Sbbkhy wa§ servant-man to Richard 
Oumbleton, esq. ot MountlmUy, GuiBUetonBun«> 
in the north of the oounty of Cork ; and a better 
servant than Ned was not to be found in that 
honest county, from Cape Clear to the Kilworth 
Mountains; faraohoij-'-^o, not his worst enemy, 
could say aword against him, only that he was ra- 
ther given to drinking, idling, lying, and loitering, 
especially the last, for send Ned of a five minute 
message at nine o'clock in the momiBg, and you 
were a lucky man if you saw hun fadore dinner. 
If there happened to be a publio-htmse in the way, 
or even a little out of it, Ned was sure to mark it 
as dead as a pointer; uid knowing every body, 
and every body liking him, it is not to be won- 
dered at he had so much to say Snd to hear, that 
the time slipped away as if the sun somehow or 
other bad Inocked two liours into one. 

But when he came home, he never was short 
of an excuse ; he had, for that matter, five hun- 
dred ready upon the tip of his tongue, so much 
so, that I doubt if even the very reverend doctor 



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NED SHEE1{T*8 ESCV»> 1T9 

Swift, tor raaof pean Deas c^ St. Fntrtck's, in 
DubUn, ootild matdi him in that particulorj thDu^ 
his revereiioe had a fsetby way of his own of writ- 
ing things Thich brought him into very decent 
company. In fact. Ned wouU fi«t a saint, but 
then he was so good-humoured a fellow, and really 
w handy about a house, ibr, as he said himself, he 
was as good as a ladyVmaid, that his matter 
could not find it in his heart to part with him. 

In your grand houses— not that I am saying 
that Richard OumUeton, esquire, of MountbaUy, 
Cliimbletonmore, did not keep a good house, but 
a plain country gentleman, akhoi^ he is second 
cousin to the last high-sheriff of the county, can- 
not have all the army of servants that die lord- 
lieutenant has in the castle of Dublin — I »ay, in 
your grand houses, you can have a servant for 
e^ry kind of thing, but in Mountbally, Gum>- 
Uetonmore, Ned was ^:pected to please master 
and mistress ; or, as counsellor Cuiran said,— by 
the same tokua the counsellor was a Uttle dark 
man^-one day that he dined there, on hia way to 
the Clonmel assises — Ned was minister for the 
home and foreign departments. 

But to make a long story short, Ned Sttiedy 
was 8 good butl», and a right good <nie too, and 
as for a groan, let him alone with a horse; he 
oould dress it, or nde it, or shoe it, or physic it. 



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180 neO shbbby's excusE;^ 

or do any thing with it but malce it Bpealc — h6 
was a second whisperei ! — there was not his mat*^ 
in the baiony, or the next one neitbeT. A pack 
of hounds he could manage well, aj, and ride 
after them with the boldest man in the land. It 
was Xed who leaped the old hounds ditch at the 
turn of the boreen of the landa of Beenascreenaj 
after the En^ish captain pulled up on looking at 
it, and cried out it was " No go." Ned rode that 
day Brian Boro, Mr. Gumbleton's famous chesnut, 
and people call it Ned Sheehy's leap to this hour. 

So, you see, it was hard to do without him ; 
however, many a scddii^ he got, and although 
his master often said of an evening, " I *H turn off 
Ned," he always forgot to do so in the morning. 
These threats mended Ned not a bit; indeed he 
was mending the other way, like bad fish in hot 
weather. 

One cold winter's day, about three o'clock in 
the afternoon, Mr. Gumbleton said to him, 

" Ned," said he, " go take Modderaroo down 
to black Falrey, the horse-doctor, and bid him 
' look at her knees, for Doctor Jenkinson, who rode 
her home last night, has hurt her somehow. I 
suppose he thought a parson's horse ought to go 
upon its knees ; but, indeed, it was I was the fool 
to give her to him at all, for he sits twenty stone 
if he sits a pound, and knows no more of riding. 



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NED GHEEHY's excuse. 181 

paiticularly aftei his tlurd Imttle, than I do of 
preaching. Now mind and be back in an hour 
ftt furthest, for I want to have the plate cleaned 
up properly for dinner, ai sir Augustus O'Toole, 
you know, is to dine here to-day. — Don't loiter 
for your life." 

" Is it I, sir?" says Ned. " Well, that beats 
any thing; aa if I 'd atop out a minute!" So 
piounting Modderaroo, off he set. 

FouTj five, six o'clock camCj and so did sir Au- 
gustus and lady O'Toole, and the ibur mines 
O'Toole, and Mr. O'Toole, and Mr. Edward 
O'Toole, and Mr, James O'Toole, which were 
all the young O'Tooles that were at home, bat 
no Ned Sheeby appeared to clean the jdate, or 
to lay the table-cloth, or even to put dinner on> 
It IB needless to say how Mr. and Mrs. Dick' 
Gumbleton fretted and fumed, but it was all to 
no use. They did their best, however, only it 
was a disgrace to see long Jem the stable-boy, 
and Bill the gossoon that used to go of errands, 
waiting, without any body to direct them, when 
there was a real baronet and his lady at table, 
for sir Augustus was none of your knights. Bat 
a good bottle of claret makes up for much, and it 
was not one only they had that night. However 
it is not to be concealed that Mr. Dick Gumbleton 
went to bed very cross, and he awoke still croeser. 



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I8S KED sheehy's excuse. 

He beard that Ned had not Hiade hii appear- 
ance fei Ae whole night, so he dressed himself 
in a great fiet, and taking his horsewhip in hit 
hand he said, 

"There is no fsrthar use in t(dersting this 
scoundrel; 111 go looh for him, and if 2 find 
him. 111 cut the soul out of his ragabond body! 
I wQl by — ■ 

" Don't swear, Didc dear," said Mia. Gum- 
U«taii (&r she was always a mild woman, being 
daugbter of fighting Ton Crofts, who shot a 
oonirie of gentlemen, friends of his, in the cool 
at tlK «veaing, after the Mallow races, one after 
the ether), " don't swear, Dick, dear," said she, 
" but do, my dear, oblige me by cuttings the flesh 
ofl" his bmiea, for he richly deserres it. I was 
quit* aAamad of lady O'TtM^, yesterday, I was, 
'pon haaaat." 

Out sallied Mr. Ouubleton ; and he had not (u 
to walk ; tar not more tlian two hundred yards 
from the house, he found Ked lying fast asleep 
under a ditch *, and Modderaroo standing by him, 
poor beast, taking ereiy limb. The loud snoring 
of ]Ved, who was lyin^ with his head upon a stone 
as easy and as comfortaUe as if it had been a bed 
of down or a hop-bag, drew him to the spot, and 



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MED SUEEfiY'S EXCUSE. 189 

Mr- Gumtdeton at once percaved, from the di«- 
aray cf Ned's fiue and persoo, that he h»d been 
nigaged in some perilous adventure during the 
ni^t- Ned appeared not to have deccended in 
the most regular mannei, for one of his shoes re- 
mained stiding in the Btirrups, and his hat, having 
rolled down a little slope, was inAiedded » gieeit 
mud. Mr. Gumhletam, howevra, did not give hkn- 
self much trouble to make a curious survejr, but 
with a vigcffous apjAication of hi* thoag toon ha- 
nished sleep from the eyea of Ned Sheehf. 

" Ned," thundered his master in great indigna- 
tion ; aad on this occssion it was not a word an<} 
blow, for with that one word came half a doaen. 
" Get op, you scoundrel," said he. 

Ned roared lu^y, and no wonder, for his mas- 
ter's hand was not one c£ the lightest ; and he 
cried out, between sleeping and waking — " O, sir ! 
—don't be angry, sir !— don't be angry, and 1 11 
roast you easier — easy as a lamb !" 

"Roast me easier, you vagabond!" said Mr. 
Oumbleton ; " what do you mean ^— I '11 roost 
you, my lad- Where were you all night ? — Uod- 
deraroo wiU never get over it. — Pack out of my 
service, you worthless villsin, this uMimeat ; and, 
indeed, you may give God thanks that I don't get 
you transported." 

" Thank God, master, dear/' said Ned, who 



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181 NED S11CEHy''8 EXCUSE. 

was now perfectly svralmed — " it 's yourself 11117- 
how. There oevei was a gentleman in the whole 
county ever did so good a turn to a poor man as 
your honour has been after doing to me : the 
Lord reward you for that same. Oh ! but strike 
me (^n, and let me feel that it is yourself, mas- 
ter, dear,-— may whiskey be my poison — " 

" It wiU be your poison, you good-for-nothing 
scoundrel," said Mr. Gumbleton. 

" Well, then, may whbkey be my poison," said 
Ned, " if 'twas not I was — God help me ! — in . the 
blackest of misfortunes, and they were before me, 
whichever way I turned 'twas no matter. Your 
honour sent me last ni^t, sure enough, with 
Modderaroo to mister Falvey's — I don't deny it 
— why should I ? f or reason enough I have to re- 
member what happened." 

" Ned, my man," said Mr. Oumbleton, " I '11 
listen to none of your excuses : just take the more 
into the stable and yourself off, for I vow to — " 

" Bering your honour s pardon," said Ned, 
earnestly, " for interrupting your honour ; but, 
master, master ! make no Vows — they are bad 
things: I never made but one in all my life, 
which was to drink nothing at all for a year and 
a day, and 'tis myself reptnted of it for the clean 
twelvemonth afler. Sut if your honour would 
only listen to reason j 1 11 just take in the poor 



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NED cueeht'b excuse. 185 

baste, and if yoni honour don't pcirdon me this 

one time may I never see another day's luck or 

grace." 

" I know you, Ned," said Mr. Gumbleton. 

" Whatever your luck haa been, you never had 
any grace to lose : but I don't intend discussing 
the matter with you. Take in the mare, sir." 

Ned obeyed, and his master saw him to the 
stables. Here he Teiterated his commands to quit, 
and Ned Sheeh/s excuse for himself began. That 
it was heard uninterruptedly is more than I can 
affirm ; but as interruptions, like explanations, 
spoil a story, w^ must let Ned tell it his own 
way. 

" No wonder your honour," said he, " should be 
a bit angry — grand cmnpatiy coming to the house 
and all, and no r^ular serving-man to wait, only 
long Jem ; so I don't blame your honour the least 
for being fretted like ; but when all 'b heard, you 
will see that no poor man is more to be pitied 
for last night than myself. Fin Mac Coul never 
went through more in his bom days than I did, 
though he was a great ^oin^ *, and I only a man. 
" I had not rode half a mile from the house, 
when it came on, as your honour must have per- 
ceived clearly, mighi^ dark all of a sudden, tor 



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186 HED sheeuy's excuse. 

aU tite w<kI4i bs if the lun had tumUed dawa 
[dump out of the fiiMs dear blue sky. It whs not 
80 late, being only four o'clock at tlie moat, but it 
w&B SB Idack sji Toisr honour's bat* Well, 1 didn't 
care much, seeing I knew the road as well as I 
knew the way to my mouth, whether I saw it w 
not, aad I put the mare into a smart canter ; but 
jusi » I turned down by the comer of Terence 
liCahy's field — sure youi honour ought to know the 
place wdl— just at the very spot tbe fox was killed 
whea yooi honoux came in first out of a whole 
field ttt a hundred aod Stty g»dlemeui and may 
be more, all of th«sa brave riders." 

(Mr. Gutnbletwi smiled.) 

" Just then, tltere, I heard the low cry of the 
good people wafting upon the wind. How eady 
you are at your work, my little iellons, says I to 
myself; and, dark as it was, haring no wish fw 
such company, I thought it best to get out of thnr 
way ; so I turned the lu»se a little up to the kft, 
thioking to gtA down by the boreen, that is that 
way, and so niuiid to Falvey's, but there I hewd 
the TOice plainer and plainer close behind, and I 
could hear tbeae words : 
'Ned'Ned! 
By my cap so red I 
You 're as good, Ned, 
As a man that is dead.' 



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KZB khckry's XXClItB. 187 

A clean pair of ipun is all that 's for it now, aaid 
I ; so off I set at hard as I could lick, and in m^ 
knny knew no more wfaere I wat going than I dt> 
the road to the hill of Tar& Away I galloped 
on &xr some dne, until I came to the noise at %. 
atream, roaring away by itse^ in the daikneaa. 
What river is this P said I to myself— fiir there 
WM nobody else to ask — I thou^t, says I, I knew 
erety inch of ground, and of water too, within 
twenty miles. Hod nerer the river luieLy is then 
in this diraction. So I stopped to look about; 
but I might have spared myself that trouble, {at 
i could not see as much as my band. I didn't 
know what to do ; but I thougjit in myself, it '» 
a queer river, surely, if smnebody does not live 
near it; and I shouted out, as loud as I could, 
Mmder! murder! — fire! — robbery! — any thing 
that would be natural in such a place — but not a 
goond did I bear except my own voice echoed badt 
to me, like a hundred packs of hounds in full cry, 
above and bdow, ri^t and left. This didn't do 
at all ; BO I dismounted, and guided myself along 
the stream, directed by tbe ncnse of the water, as 
cautious as if I was treading upon eggs, bedding 
poor Moddetaroo by the bridle, who shook, the 
poor brute, all over in a tremble, like my old 
grandmother, rest her soul, anyhow ! in the ague. 
Well, gir, the heart was sinking in me, and I was 



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188 KED SHEXHTfl EZC08K. 

giving myself up, when, as good luck would have 
it, I saw a light. ' Maybe,' said I, ' mj good fel- 
low, you are only a jacky laathora, and want to 
bog me and Modderaroo.' But I looked at the 
light hard, and I thought it was too study (steady) 
for a jacky lantborn. ' 111 try you,' says I — ' so 
here goes ;' and walking as quick as a thief, I came 
towards it, being very near plumping into the river 
once or twice, and being stuck up to my middle, 
as your honour may perceive cleanly the marks of, 
two or three times in the slob'. At last I made 
die light out, and it coming from a bit of a house 
t^ the road side ; so I went to the door, and gave 
three kicks at it, as strong as I could, 

" ' Open the door for Ned Sheehy,' said a voice 
indde. Xow, besides that I could not, for the life 
of me, make out how any one inaide should know 
me before I spoke a word at all, I did not like the 
sound of that voice, ' twas so hoarse and so hollow, 
just like a dead man's !— so I said nothing imme- 
diately. The same voice spoke again, and said, 
' Why don't you open the door to Ned Sheehy ?' 
' How pat my name is to you/ said I, without 
■peaking out, ' on tip of your tongue, like hucter;' 
and I was between two minds about staying <x 
going, when what should the door do but open^ 

* Or ihib ; mire on the Kb Itnwd or liver's bank.— 



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VXD SHEStlT'a BXCtrSB< 189 

and but Etune a man liolding & candle in his hand, 
and he had upon him a face as white as a sheet. 

" ' Why, then, Ned Sheehy,' gays he, ' how 
grand you 're grown, that you won't come in and 
see a friend, as you 're passing by.' 

" ' Pr^, sir,' says I, looking at him— thou^ 
that face of his was enough to dumbfounder any 
honest man like myself—' Pray, sir,' says I, ' may 
I make so bold as to ask if you are not Jack Myers 
that was drowned seven years ago, next Martin- 
mass, in the ford at Ah-no-fourish ?' 

" ' Suppose I was,' says he ; ' has not a man 
a right to be drowned in the ford fitcing his own 
cabin-door any day of the week that he likes, firom 
Sunday meaning to Saturday night?' 

" ' I 'm not denying that same, Mr. My^rs, sir,' 
says 2, ' if 'tis yourself is to the ibre speaking 

" ■ Well,' says he, ' no more words about that 
.matter now ; sure you and J, Ned, were &iends 
of dd i come in, and take a glass ; and here 's a 
.good fire before you, and nobody shall hurt or 
harm you, and I to the fore, and myself able to 
doit.' 

" Now, your honour, though 'twas much to 
drink with a man that was drowned seven years 
before, in the ford of Ah-na-fourish, facing his 
own door, yet the glass was hard to he withstood 



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190 KED SHIiBHT^B EXCDBE. 

— to say nothing of the fiie that wu blucmg widiu 
— ibr the sight was mcst^ oald. So tying Mod- 
dravroo to the hasp of the docs— if I don't lore 
the iTreattire as I lore my own life — I went in 
with Jack Myers. 

" Civil enough he was — 1 11 never »ay other- 
wtse to my dying hour — for he handed me a Btool 
hy the fire, and bid me sit down and ma^e myielf 
comfortable. But his face, as I stud b^te, was 
as white as the snow on the hills, and his two 
eyes fell dead on me, like the eyes of a cod with> 
out any life in them. Just as I wai going to put 
the ^ass to my lips, a voic^— 'twas the aame that 
I heard bidding the door be opened— ept^ out at 
a cupboard tiist was convenient to Ute left hsmd 
side of the chimney, and said, ' Have you any 
news for me, Ned Sheehy ?* 

" ' The never a word, sir,' says I, making answer 
he&reltastedthe whiskey, all out of civility; and 
to speak the truth, never the least could I re- 
member at that moment of what had happened to 
me, or how I got there ; for I was quite bothered- 
with Ae fri|^t. 

" ' Have you no newt,' says the vmce, ' Ned, 
to tell me, from Mountbally GumUetoamore; or 
from the Mill ; or about Moll Tntntum that was 
married last week to Bryan Oge, and you at the 
wedding?" 



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NBD SBEEHT'S excuse. 191 

" ' No, sir,' Bays I, ' never tbe word.' 

" ' What brou^t you in here, Ned, then ?" 
Ba.ys the voioe. I couhl say nothing; for what- 
ever other people might do, I never could fnune 
an excnse ; and I was lo^ to gay it was on ac- 
count of the glass and the tire, for that would be 
to speak the truth. 

" ' Turn the scoundrel out,' says the voice ; 
sad at the sound of it, who would I see bat Jack 
ftfyers making over to me with a lump of a stick 
in his hand, and it clenched on the stick so wicked. 
Fw certain, I did not stop to feel the wei^t cf 
the blow ; so, dioi^ing the gUsi, and it full of 
the Mif too, I bolted out of the door, and never 
rested from running away, for as good I believe 
as twenty miles, tiU I found myself in a big 
wood. 

" ' The Lord preserve me ! what will become 
of me, now I' soys I. ' Oh, Ned Shediy !' gays 
I, speaking to myself, ' my man, you 're in a 
pretty hobUe ; and to leave poor Modderaroo 
afW you !' But the words were not weQ out of 
my mouth, wlien I beard tbe dismallest ullagoane 
in the wcwld, enou^ to break any one's heart 
that was not broke before, with tbe grief entirely ; 
and it was not long 'till I ccHild plt^nly see four 
men coming towards me, with a great Uack coffin. 



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192 NED 8HEEUY*S EXCUSE. 

on their ihoulden. ' I 'd better get up in a tree,' 
taya I, ' for they nay 'tia not lucky to meet a 
corpse : I 'm in the way of misfortune to-night if 
ever man was.' 

" I could not help wgnderiug how a berrin * 
Khoulil come there in fhe lone ,wood at that time 
of night, seeing it could not be far &oni the dead 
hour. But it was little good for me thinking, for 
they soon came under the very tree I was roosting 
in, and down they put the coffin, and began to 
make a fine lire under me. 1 11 be smothered 
alive now, thinks I, and that will be the end of 
me ; but I was afraid to stir for the life, or to 
speak out to lud them just make their fire under 
some other tree, if it would be all the same thing 
to them. Presently they opened the coffin, and out 
they draped as fine looking a man as you 'd meet 
with in a day's walk. 

" ' Where 's the spit P' says one- 

" ' Here 'tis/ says another, hamiing it over ; 
and for certain they spitted him, and b^on to 
turn him bdine the fire. 

" If they are not going to eat him, thinks I, 
like the HannibaU father Quinlan told us about 
in his tarmint last Sunday. 

■FunenJ. 



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il 



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MBS SHEEHT 8 EXCUSE. 198 

" ' Wltoll turn the spit while we go foi the 
odiei ingredients ?' says one of them that brought 
the ci^n, and a Ug ugly-loddng Uackgoard he 
was. 

•' ' Who 'd turn the spit hut Ned Sheehy ?* 
says another. 

" Bum you I thinks I, how should you Irnow 
Uiat I was here so handy to you up in the tree i 

" ' Come down, Ned Sheehyj and turn the 
■pit,' says he. 

" ' I 'm not here at all, sir,' says I, putting my 
hand over my face that he may not see me. 

" ' That won't do for you, my man,' iays he ; 
' you'd better come. down, or maybe I'd make 
you.' 

" ' I 'm coming, bt,' says I, for 'tis always ri^t 
to make a virtue of nesesiity. So down I came, 
and there they left me turning the spit in the 
middle of the wide wood. 

'! ' Don't siiorch me, Ned Sheehy, you vaga- 
bond/ says the man on the spit 

" ' And my Imrd, sir, and ar'n't you dead, Mr,' 
says I, ' and your honour taken out of the coffin 
and all?' 

" ' I ar'n't/ sayB he. 

" • But surely you are, sir,' ssys I, ' for 'tis to 
no use now for me denying that I saw your ho- 
nour, and I Up in the tree.' 

FABT II. o 



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194 MED sheehy's excuse. 

". ' I ar'n't,' says he agaJHf peaking quite aliort 
and snappish. 

" So I said no more until present!}! he called 
. out to me to turn him easy, or that ma; be 'twould 
be the worse turn for myself. 

" ' Will that do, dr ?' says I, turning him as 
exsy aa I could. 

" ' That 's too easy,' says he ; so I turned him 
faster. 

" ' That's too &st,' says he; so finding that 
turn him which way I would, I could not please 
him, I got into a bit of a fret at last, and desired 
him to turn himself, for a grumbliag spalpeen as 
he was, if he liked it better. 

" Away I ran, and away he came hopping, spit 
and all after me, and he but half roasted. ' Atur- 
der ! ' says I, shouting out j ' I 'm done for at long 
last — now or never !' — when all of a sudden, and 
'twas really wonderful, not knowing where I was 
rightly, I found myself at the door of the very 
little cabin by the roadside that I had bolted out 
of from Jack Myers ; and there was Modderaroo 
standing hard by. 

" ' Open the door for Ned Sheehy,' says the 
voice, for 'twas shut against me, and the door 
flew open in an instant. In I ran., without stop 
or stay, thinking it better to be beat by Jack 
Myers, he being an old friend of mine, than to 



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nSS ABEXHT*! SXCME. 195 

be i^tud like a Hichadmaf gooae bj a man that 
I knew nothing about, either of him or his femily, 
one or &b other. 

" ' Have you any news for me ?' sayi the voioe, 
patting just the same question to me ^t it did 

" ' Yes, sir,' layi I, ' and plenty.' So I men- 
tioned all that had happened to me in the big 
wood, and how I got up in the tree, and how I 
was made come down again, and put to turning 
the spit, roosting the gentleman, and how I conld 
not jflease him, turn him fast or easy, although I 
tried my best, and how he ran after me at last, 
^t and all. 

" ' If you had told me this before, yoB would 
not have been turned out in die cold,' nid the 
Toice. 

" ' And how could I tell it to you, air,' teys 
I, ' before it happened t' 

" ' No matter,' says he, ' you may sleep now 
till morning on that bundle of hay in the comer 
thea«, and only I was your friend, you 'd have 
been tUt entirely.' So down I lay, but I was 
dreaming, dreaming all the rest of the night, and 
when you, master dear, woke me with that blessed 
Uow, I thought 'twas the man on the spit had hold 
of me, and could hardly believe my eyes when I 
found myself in your honour's presence, and poor 
oS 



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196 HBD sbebby's excuse. 

Modderaroo safe and sooiid b^ my aide ; bnt how 
I came there ii more than I can say, if 'twas not 
Jack Myen, although he did make t^ ofiier ta 
Ntrike me, or some one loaonf the gcxid people 



" It ia all a drunken dream, you Booundrel," 
said Mr. Gumbleton ; " hare I not had fifty such 
execnsea from you ?" 

" But never one, youi hooour, that resUy hap- 
pened before," said Ned, with unblushing front. 
" Howsomever, since your honour feaides 'tis 
drinking I was, I 'd rather nerer drink again to 
the worid's end, than lose so good a master as 
yourself, and if I 'm forgiven this once, and get 
another trial " 

" Well," said Mr. Gumbleton, " you may, for 
this once, go into Mountbally Oumbletonnore 
again; let me see that you keep your promise 
' as to not drinking, or mind the consequences ; 
and above all, let me hear no more of the good 
people, for I don't believe a single word about 
them, whatever I may do of bad ones." 

So saying, Mr. Gumbleton turned on his heel, 
and Ned's countenance relaxed into its usual ex- 
pression. 

" Now I wiMild not be after saying tibttat the 
good people what the maAer said lut," exolafaued 
^^SgS'i 1^ maid, who was within hearing, and 



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KED shseht's zxcvss. 19T 

who, hj the way, had an eye after Ned : " I would 
not be after Baying Buch a thing j the good people, 
maybe, will make him feel the differ (Mbence) 
to his cost." 

Nor was Pe^y wrong, for, whether Ned 
Sheehy dreamt of the Fir Darrig or not, within 
a fortnight^ after, two of Mr. Oumbteton's cows, 
the best milkers in the pariBh, ran dry, and before 
the week was out Modderaroo was lying dead in 
the stone quarry. 



The name, and some of Oie aftnationi in the foie> 
gMDg tale are taken from Mr. Lynch'* manuscript 
collection of Killamey legends, which has been most 
dbl^n^y forwarded by him to the eominler of this 
wdnme. Beveral versions of this whiauical adventure 
are cumnt in Ireland : one, whidi was noted down 
many years nnce, frem the writet'i nurse, is given as 
a pvoof bow faithAilly the mun incidents in these tales 
are orally drcolated and preserved. Ihe heroine is 
Joan Coleman of Klnsale, who, after being driven 
out tt^m an enchanted house, for having no story . 
to teQ, when called upon by an invisible speaker to 
do so, finds herself iu a duk wood. Here she di*« 
covers a very old man, with a loug heard, roasting 
anodier man as old as himself on a ^t before a great 
fite. 



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196 K2D fUEKinr's xxcosb; 

"■ WbCM Aa old mu, who me turning tke qrit, 
MW Joan, he wekomed fan, and exprrMwl hia-ivj U 
seeing hia goMJp'a daughter, Joan ColetnaB af Kin- 
Rale. Joan was much frightened; bat he welcnnad 
her BO kindly, and tM her to ait down to the fire in 
■o friendlj a manoer, that abe waa aomewhat aaured, 
and oom[died with the inritatioa. He then handed 
her the apit to turn, and gave her the atricteat charge 
not to allow a brown or a bnmed ipot on die old man 
who was roaatiug nntil he came baii ; and with these 
directionB left tier. 

" It happened to be rather a wind; night, and Joan 
hod not turned the spit long before a apark flew into 
the beard of th»roacting old man, and the wind blow- 
ing that way it was speedily on fire. Joan, when she 
taw what hod happened, waa much tronUed, aad ran 
away as fact aa poMble. When the eld f<rilow felt 
his beard on fire, he called out to Joan, in a great paa- 
■ioa, to come back, and not to allow him to be burned 
up to a cinder. Joan only ran the faster ; and be, 
without ever getting off the spit, raced after her, with 
his beard all in fiamea, to know why, aft^ the orders 
shebadreceiTed,hews«trestedinihatmanner. Joan 
rushed into a house, which happened to be the very 
same that she had been tamed oat of for want of a 
story to telL When the went in, Joan Coleman was 
welMwied by the same voiee which bad direeied her 
te be tunted out. She was deared to come to the fire, 
.and pitieil much, and a beil was ordered to be made 
fer her. After she had Uin down (<x tome tinte, Ae 



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SED SaEEHY't 'EXCITSB. 199 

voice ail:ed her if ^ had now « itiiry to tdl ? ' Joan 
answered thuahebkd; harii^'af^^tinlicrlieart/ 
from what had- happened to her dnce ahe left, and 
without more words related her adventure. ' Ver; 
well,' laid the vidce, 'if you .had told the same *twy 
when yoa were aaktd before, you would. have had 
your ctHoToTtable lodging and your good night's rest 
by this time. I am sorry, Joan, that I was obl^ed to 
turn you out, that you might have something Co tell 
me, for Father Red Cap never girea s bed without 
being paid fai it by a story.' When Joan awoke next 
day at the crowing of the codt, ahe found herself lying 
on a little hank of lusbea and green moes, with her 
bundle nnder her bead for a pillow." 

The Irish Fir darrig. U doubtless the same as the 
Scottish Sed Gip;.and a writer in the Quarterly Re- 
view (No. xuv. p. 3i8), UBcing national analogies, 
saysi that this fairy is the Sobin Hood at England, 
and the Saxon spirit Hvdkin or Hodeken, to G»Ued 
from the hoodaldn or little hood which he wore. 

Ned Sheehy, in hia power over horses, is said to be 
a second Whisperer. To the English reader this may 
qipear obscure, but it will be well understood in the 
. south of Ireland. The reverend Horatio Townaend, 
in his valuable Statistical Survey of Cork, gives so re- 
markable an account of the Whisperer that the Ici^ 
of tfa« extnct will doahtless be pardoned. 

" Among (he curiouties of this district" (Newmarket) 
" may be primly included a very extraordinary power 
displqred byoneof its naUvei, in controlling bd^baV 



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900 XBD BHBEirr'B bxcitse. 

doing the refrKtary dii^oulicn of honn. What I 
am abaiit to nUte will aFpear alnaat incredibly uid 
ii certainly very bud to be aocDmrted fa> ; but there 
i« Qot the lean doabt of its tnith. H any of the nort 
reepecUUe inhaUtantBhave been.iritiKan af hia perw 
fonnaiiMa, some of which cane witUa ny omu know- 
ledge. 

" He wa> an awkward, ifflotantragtic of the knmt 
dan. «rf the name of SoUiTan, hot better known by 
the fqipellation of the Whispem^-lus oectqiatioti, 
boife-breaking. The Dickaame he acqnind from a 
migar notion of bis being aUe to cenunuHcate to the 
aoimal wtiat he widied by means <^ a whiter, and 
the nngularity of bii method aeetned in ume degree 
to juttify the attribnie. In his own nei^boarhood, 
the notoriety (tf the. fkct msda it a4>pear len remark- 
able, but I donbt if any iaalance of similar eulgogating 
talent ia to, be fomid on reemd. Aa far aa the qthere 
of biacontrol extended, the boait of «a»i, vidi, viei, was 
more justly dajjned by anUivan than, by Cssat him- 
aelf' How hia art was acquired, or in what it con- 
riated, ia likely to remain fv ever unknown, as he haa 
lately" (abowtlStO) "left the wn-IdwithontdiTn^ng 
it.. Hii SOD, who follows the same trade, pMsesaes 
but A unsll ppnioD of the art, harii^ eiAer never 
leained the true saoret, or bring ins^iaUe of puttii^ 
it in practice, the wonder of his aldll oonciatod ia 
the. odsrity of the operation, which was performed in 
priTsoy, and without any a^paroitmeana of ooeteion. 
Brcry deMriptkm.af bone, or enn nnde, vtedwt 



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VWP IREEHT^ SXCUBB. 301 

yreviooriy far^aarnnlMtidM, lAiteTer lh<& peen. 
Ihr TIMS «r iH btUt* might hire been, rabmitltd 
nUhaat Aow of UMlMuice t» the mtgical influence of 
Ui'Wt, aad in die Aort apace of half an hour be- 
crate e>Otle and tiMtabl^ Tbe eSfcet, thongh inatan- 
taBMHialy prodnted, vbb genertUy dnrable. Though 
more sabioiMdra to him than to othen, they seemed 
to line acquired a dodlltj anknown before. When 
•ent for to tame a Ticioos beaat, tat which he wBa 
paid more or leas, according to diatance, geoerallj 
two or three gnineaa, bp directed the steble in which 
he and the olyeat of tbe experiment were placed to be 
■hnt, with ordera not to open the door nntU a aignil 
giwu After a t£te-a-tete of abont half an hour, 
diring which Utile or no boatls waa heard, the «igiul 
WH made, and upon opening the door the hone ap< 
pcared lying down, Hid the man by hi» aide, playing 
ftmlUiriy with him, like a chUd with a puppy-dog. 
From that time he waa found perfectly willing to 
aabmit to any diidpline, however repugnant to hia 
nature t>efore. 

" I once," continuea Mr. Townaend, " aaw hia 
■kill tried on a horw which could never before be 
brought to itand for a amith to shoe him. The day 
after SnUinu's faalf-honi lecture I went, not without 
some inctedulity, to the smith'a shi^, with many other 
cariona apectaton, where we were eye-witnesses of the 
oompbte niceeai of his art This, too, had been ■ 
tmop horae, and it waa supposed, not without reaaon, 
that, after regimental discipline had failed, no other 



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203 NED sseeht's excdbb. 

would be fonnd aTuliiig. 1 obwrred that the uiiiiul 
ai^teared terrified vbeneTcr BulliTui either Bpidce or 
looked at him; how that extnoidinarj aecendancf 
conld hare been obtained it is diScult to coigectoie. 
In common eates Ihia myeteriom preparatioQ wa* 
. lUUieceaaBTj. He eeenied to pomcin an iiutincdTe 
power of inapiring awe, the result, peitaape, of natural 
intrepidity, in which I belicTe a great part of hia 
art conuited, thoi^h the drcnmitance of the t£te-i- 
t^te shows that, upon particular occanona, eomething 
more must have been added to it. A faculty like this 
would, in other hands, hare made a fortime, and I 
understand that great offitrt have been made to him 
for the esertiie of his art abroad. Bat hunting waa 
hia passion. He lired at home in the style mott 
agreeable to his disposition, and nothing conld indnoe 
him to quit Dnhallow and the fox-honuds." 



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THE LUCKY GUEST. 

The kitclien of some country hou'sea in Ireland 
presents in no ways a bad modem translation of 
, the ancient feudal hall. Traces of cUnship stiU 
linger round iti hearth in the numerous dependants 
on " the master's" bounty. Nunes, foster-brothen, 
and other hangers on, are there as matter of right, 
while the strolling piper, full of mirth and music, 
the heni^ted traveller, even the passing beggar, 
are received with a hearty welcome, and each con- 
tributes plonxty, song, or siiperstitlouB tale, to- 
wards the evening's amusement. 

An assembly, such as bas been described, had 
cc^lected round the kitchen fire of Ballyrahen- 
house, at the foot of the Oaltee mountains, when, 
as is ever the case, one tale of wonder called forth 
another ; and with the advance of the evening 
each succeeding story was received with deeper ' 
and deqwr attention. The history of Cough na 
Looba's dance with the black friar at Rahill, and 
the fearful tradition of Coum an 'ir ntorriv (the 
dead man's hollow), were listened to in breath- 



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204 TBE LrCKY CTTKST, 

less Bilence. A pauie followed tlie last relation, 
and all eyes rested on the namtor, an old nurse 
who occupied tlie post of honour, that next the 
finfflde. She was seated in that peculiar position 
which the Irish name " Currigguib" a position 
generaUj assumed hj a veteran and determined 
stoiy-teller. Her haunches resting upon the 
ground, and her feet hundled under the body; 
her arms folded across and supported by her hnees, 
and the outstretched chin of her hooded head 
piesnng on the upper arm; which compact ar- 
rangement nearly reduced the whole figure into 
a perfect triangle. 

Unmoved by the general gtue, Bridget Doyle 
made no change of attitude, while she gravely 
asserted the tnith of the marvellous' tale ctm- 
ceming the Dead Man's Hollow ; her strongly 
marked countenance at the time receiving what 
painten term a fine chiaro-scuro effect from Hie 



" I have told yon," she said, " what happened 
to my own people, the Butlers and the Doyles, in 
the old times ; but here is little Sllen Connell 
from the county Cork, who can speak to what 
h^tpened under her own father and mother's roof 
—the Lord be good to them I" 

E!llen was a young and blooming ^il of atxmt 
sixteen, who was employed in the dairy at Bally 



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THB LUCKY 6UBBT. S06 

saLen. She was the pictoie of he&hh and nistiD 
beauty ; and at this hint from niuBe Do^le, a deep 
blush mantled over her countenance ; yet althoa|^ 
" unaccustomed to public speaking," she,.withcnit 
fiirther hesitation or excuse, proceeded as fi^ows : 
" It was one May eve, about thirteen yeats ago, 
and that is, as every body knows, the airiest day 
in all the twelve months. It is the day above all 
other," said Ellen, with her large dark eyes cast 
down on the grousd, and drawing a deep dgh, 
" when the young boys and the young girls go 
looking after the Druiheen, to leam from it rightly 
&e name of their sweethearts. 

"My father, and my mother, and roj two 
brothers, with two or three of the neigtibours, 
were sitting ronnd the turf tire, and were talking 
of one thing or another. My mother was hushoing 
my little sister, striving to quietea her, for she 
was cutting her teeth at the time, and was mighty 
imeasy through the means of them. The day, 
which was threatening all along, now that it was 
coming on to dusk, faegsai to rain, and the min 
increased and fell faater and taster, as if it was 
pouring through a sieve out of the wide heavens ; 
and when the lain stopped for a bit there was a 
wind which kept up such a whistling and racket, 
that you would have thought tli£ sky and the 



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206 THE LUCKY CDBST. 

earth were coming together. It blew and it bletr 
ai if it had a mind to Uow the roof off the catan, 
■nd that would not have been very hard for it to 
do, as the thatch was quite loose in two or three 
places. Then the rain began again, and yau could 
hear it spitting and hissing in the fire, as it came 
down through the big chimbley. 

" ' Ood Ueag us,' sajs my mother, ' but 'tis a 
dreadiul night to be at sea,' says she, ' and God 
be praised that we have a roof, bod as it is, to 
shelter us.' 

" I don't, to be sure, recollect all this, mistress 
Doyle, but only as my brothers told it to me, and 
other people, and often hare I heard it; for I 
was BO little then, that they say I could just go 
under the table without tipping my head. Any- 
way, it was in the reiy height of the pelting and 
whistling that we heard something speak outside 
the door. My father and all of us listened, but 
there was no more noise at that time. We waited 
a little longer, and then we plainly heard a sound 
like an old man's voice, asking to be let in, but 
mi^ty feebly and weak. Tim bounced up, with- 
out a word, to ask us whether we 'd like to l«t 
the old man, or whoever he was, in — having al- 
ways a heart as soft as a mealy potatoe before the 
voice of sorrow. When Tim pulled back the bolt 



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TBE LUCKT GDSST. 207 

that did the door, in mazched a little bit of a shri- 
velled, weather-beaten creature, atxnit two feet 
and a half hi^. 

" We were all watdiing to see who 'd come in, 
fiv there was a wall between ui and the door ; 
but when the sound of the undoing of the bolt 
stopped, we heard Tim give a sort of a screech, 
and instantly he bolted in to us. He had hardly 
time to say a word, or we either, when the little 
gentleman ihuffled in after him, without a God 
lave all here, or by your leave, or any other sort 
cf thing that any decent body might say. We 
all, of one accord, scrambled over to the furthest 
end irf the room, where we were, old and young, 
ev«7 one trying who 'd get nearest the wall, and 
farthest irom him. All the eyes of our body were 
Muck upon him, but he didn't mind us no more 
-than that &ying^pan there does now. He walked 
over to the fire, and squatting himself down like a 
.&og, took the pipe that my father dropped &om 
his mouth in the hurry, put it into his own, and 
then began to smoke so hearty, that he soon filjed 
the room of it. 

" We had plenty of tirae to observe bim, and 
my brothers say that he wore a sugar-loaf hat 
that was as red as blood : he had a face as yellow 
as a kite's claw, and as long as to-day and to-mor- 



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908 XS¥ LUCKT GOaiT. 

row put together, widi s ntonUi all sciewed sad 
puckered up like a washer-wonUin'B lumd, little 
Hue eyes, sud rather a highitih noee ; his hiur vaa 
quite grey and lengthy, t^tpearing uoder hit hat, 
and flowing over the cape of a hmg gcarlet coat 
whidi almoat trailed the ground behind him, and 
the ends of which he took, up and planked on hit 
kneea to dry, as he ut &cing tlie fire. He had 
■mart corduroy laeedies, and woollen stockings 
drawn up orer the knees, bo as to hide the kne^ 
buckles, if he had the pride to have them ; but, 
at any rate, if he hada't them in his knees he had 
them in his shoes, out before his qiindle legs. 
When we came to ourselves a little we though 
to escape from the room, but no one would go fast, 
nor no one would stay last ; so we huddled our- 
■dves tt^ther and made a dart out of the rocnn. 
My little gentleman never minded any thing <^ 
the scrambling, noi hardly stirred himself, sitting 
quite at his ease before the fire. The nei^bouis, 
the rery instant minute they got to the door, 
although it still continued pelting rain, cut gutter 
as if Oliver Cromwell himself was at their faeels ; 
and no blame to them for that, anyhow. It was 
my father, and my modier, and my brothers, and 
myself, a little bop-of-my-thumb midge as I was 
then, that were left to see what would come out 



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THE LtTCEV aOEST. 809 

of tliu itrange visit ; bo we all went quietlj to 
the labbig*, scarcely daring to throw sn eye at 
him aa we passed the door. Xerer the wink of 
deep could they sleep that live-long night, thouf^, 
to be sure, I sl^t like a top, not knowing hetter, 
while they were talking and thinking of the little 

" When they got up in the morning every thing 
was as quiet and as tidy about the place as if no- 
thing had happened, for all tbat the chairs and 
stools were tumbled here, there, and eyerywhere, 
when we saw the lad enter. Now, indeed, I forget 
whether he came next night or not, but, anyway, 
that was the first time we ever laid eye upon him. 
This I know for certain, that, about a month after 
that, he came regulady every night, and used to 
give us a signal to be on the move, for 'twas plain 
he did not like to be observed. This sign was 
always made about eleven o'clock; and then, if 
we'd look towards the door, there was a little 
hairy arm thrust in through the key-hole, which 
would not have been big enough, only there was 
a fresh hole made near the first one, and the bit 
cf stick between them had been teiken away, and 
so 'twas just fitting for the little arm. 

* Latbig — btd, tmai Leaba. — Vide O'Bbien aai 
O'Reilly. 



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210 THE LDCKT OUBST. 

" The Fir danig continued hia viaitfi, nerer 
mi^ng B, night, aa lumg as we attended to the 
■jgnol ; smoking olwi^ out of the pipe he made 
his own ofj and wBiming himself till di^ dawned 
befoiethe fire, and then going no one living knows 
where : but thoe was not the least mai^ of him 
to be found in the momiug ; and 'tis as tru«, 
nurse Doyle, and honest peo^, as you ate all 
here sitting before me and by the side of me, that 
the family continued thriving, and my father and 
brothers rising in the world while ever he came 
to us> When we observed this, we used always 
look for the very moment to «ee when the onn 
would come, and then we 'd instantly -fly off with 
ourselves to our rest. But before we found the 
luck, we used sometimes sit still and not mind the 
arm, especially when a nei^bour -would be with 
my father, or that two or three-ar'faur of them 
would have a drop among them, and then they 
did not care for all the arms, hairy or not, that 
ever were seen. No one, however, dared to speak 
to it mr of it instdently, except, indeed, one night 
that Davy Kennane — ^but he was drunk — walked 
over and hit it a rap on the back of the wrist : the 
hand was snatched off like lightning ,- but every one 
knows that Davy did not live a month after this 
happened, though be was only about ten days sick. 
The like of such tricks are ticklish things to do. 



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THE LOCKT GUEST. ill 

" Ab woe a> die eed nan mold put in kb arm 
for ft sgn dmB^ die bde in tbe ter, «nd tliat 
w« did not go ud open it to Umt, m «ure some 
nithap brfe2 lite etiitle : the eows weie el£«tciKd, 
or orerioolEed, or soKediing oraDodier went wroog 
with tbou. One iii^t a^ IratkeE Dan Defiued 
to go at ibe ugoAl, and tlte nest ixr, u be vac 
cutting turf in Ccogk-oa-driauna bt^, within a 
mile and a half of the home, a stone was thrown 
at hiw, whicii bteke turlj, with the &roe, into 
two halves. Now, If that bad happened to hit 
him, he'd be at tiat hour a> dead as my great 
gEeat^p«nd&th«r. It came whack-slap against 
&e spade be had in his band, and split at. (omb 
in two pieces. He io«^ tham up and fitted them 
together, a«d tbej mode a foSeti heart. Some 
way or the otliei he lost it since, but be Mill has. 
the one which was shot at the spotted milch cov, 
bd'oie the Utile man cane netf us. Many and many 
a time I «aw tli«t lame ; 'tis just the Aofe ^ the 
ace of hearts on the cwds, only It i< (^ a dark-red 
aebnir, and polished up like tlie grate that is in 
dte grand parlour within. When thiB did not. 
kill the cow on the spot, dte swelled up ; but if 
you took and put the elf-stonp under her udder, 
and milked her upon it to the last strewing, and 
thsn made h« driak the milk, it vonld cure herit 
and she would thrive with jo\i ever after. 



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312 THE LUCKT GUEST. 

" But, a> I said, we were getting on well 
enoiighas long as we minded the door and watched 
for the hairy arm, which we did sharp enough 
when we found it was bringing luck to ub, and 
we were now as glad to Bee the little red gentle- 
man, and as readj to open the door to him, as we 
used to dread his coming at first and be frightened 
of him. But at long last we throve so well that 
the landlord — Ood forgive him — took notice t£ 
us, and envied ui, and asked my father how he 
came by the penny he had, and wanted him to 
take more ground at a rack-ient that was more 
than any Christian ought to pay to another, seeing 
there was no making it. When my father — and 
small Uame to him fcr that — refused to lease the 
ground, he turned us off the bit of land we had, 
and out of the house and all, and left us in a wide 
and wicked world, where my fether, for he was a 
soft innocent man, was not up to the roguery and 
the trickery that was practised upon him. He 
was taken this way by one and that way by an- 
other, and he treating them that were working 
his dowuML. And he used to take bite and sup 
with them, and they with him, free enough as 
long as the money lasted ; but when that was 
gone, and he hod not as much ground, that he 
could call his own, as would sod a lark, they soon 
tabbed him off. The landlord died not long 



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THS LUOKT ODEIT. SIS 

after ; and he now knows whether' be acted right 
or wrong in taking &e house iram over our heads. 

" It is a bad thing for the heart to be cast 
down, so we took another cabin, and looked out 
with great desire for the Fir darrig to come to ub> 
But ten o'clock came, and no arm, although we 
cut a hole in the data just the moral (model) of 
the other. Eleven o'clock I — twdve o'dock !^ 
ao, not a sign of him: and every ni^t we watched, 
but all would not do. We then travelled to the 
other house, and we rooted up the hearth, ibr the 
landlrad asked so great a rent for it from the pooc 
people that no one could take it ; and we carried 
away the very door off the hinges, and we brou^t 
every thing with us that we thought the little 
man was in any respect partial to, but he did not 
come, and we never saw him again. 

" My father and my mother, and my young 
sister, are since dead, and my two brothers, who 
oould tell all about this better than mysdf, are 
both of them gone out with Ingram in his last 
voyage to the Cape of Good Hope, leaving me 
behind without kith or kin." 

Here young Ellen's voice became choked with 
sorrow, and bursting into tears, she hid her face 
in her apron. 



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S14 THB LUCKY GDUT. 

Thii tak i» pNMrrad vcAuini •■ taken down by 
Mr. M'Cliae, to whole deva* penal the preKUt volume 
u alio indebted foi the idea of two or three of the 
iketchei which illnitnle it. 

The Fir darrig here has man; traits of reEembhiDce 
with the Scotch Brownie, the Germao KoboM, and 
theHoh-gohlinorEngUnd [Milton's " Lubber fiend.") 
They all hire cleinlinesa and regnlaiitj, are harbiDgera 
of good-lack, and in general, for Bome exceptions oc- 
ctDT, are like cata, attached to the home ralhei than 
totbe&nily. 

Craglk-s»-diindna bog tiea at the fbot of Caini 
Thkraa, near Pmaoj, a hill which ia tba teene of a 
luhfqnent tmy. 

CofH^t-no'Ijiobat dance with the Uack &iai at 
Kahili, as well aa the legend of the Dead Alan's Hd- 
tow, are traditions well known in the county of Tip- 
povry. The present worthy possessor of Rahill (Mr. 
Fennel], a Qosker gentleman) can bear witness to the 
popular belief in Congfa-na-Looba's eiiBtence, and 
her anppoaed abode In hit orchard, where she is con- 
Mantly heard ringii^ 

" Nafxk a uecetM 
Ah etmh a gboMoe 
Na nwA gtvaekttM 
Cougi a ma iMiba." 

The fair dame's long is given as it ii pronounced, sod 
has been translated jto the writer by a singular cha- 



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THE LUCKY GUEST. 



MQtn nuned CleBiy, whow toahriquet w 
Fos," M fbHoWe : 



Don't see what jou bm. 

Don't bear what you hear. 

Don't tell what you saw 

Of Catherine Loohy. 

" The Dnrtheen," which ia aoppoaed' to powem the- 
power of rerealii^ the Dame of a sweetheart, idaHinall 
white elng or trnkcd laail, and it is the cmnmon prafr. 
tico of boys and raaida on May morning to [dace one 
on a [dece of alate l^Oy aprinklcd with flonr or Sua 
doit, corering it orer with a large leaf, wben it never 
bila to deacrihe the initial of " die one loved name." 

The same custom prevailed in England in die time 
<^ Gay, and is described by him in " The Shepherd's 
Week." 

" I«a( Maj-day fair I leaiclt'd to find a nail 
That might my secret lover's name reveal ; 

. Upon a gposeberry-bush a snail 1 found. 
For alwaya snails near sweetest fruit abound. 
I seized the vermin, home I quicldy aped. 
And on the bearth the millc'white embers spread. 
Slow crawl'd ibe mail, and if I right can spell, 
Jn the soft ashes mark'd a curious L : 
Oh, may this wond'rous omen ludcy prove. 
For L is found in Lubberkin and Love." 

Tke word is ooiready wiitifdrticArfant.whiiJuig' 
■rifles mornitag-dnri aj, scoHding to vulgar i^niet^ 



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916 THE LUCKT GVtST. 

these sniUa fall with, and are bora of the dew, and 
are nem seen but when the dew is on the ground. 
A Idnd emrttpandent (Hr. Ricbud Dowden RicbBrd) 
Rigpsla, aa a probable deriration, />rva(tt, a magidaii, 
aod hence Druidkeen, the little magician. 

The flint arrow-hnda of the primitiTe inhalntanta, 
and the axei termed by antiquBries ttaae eelti, are 
frequently found in turning up the ground in Ireland, 
ai well aa Scotland and other conntricB. By the pea- 
aantr; they are termed elf-Btonea> and heliered to hare 
been maliefanuly shot at cattle by " the wandering 
people." 

Thna Collin*, in hii beaniiful ode on the Bi^eiati- 
tiona of the HighUnda 

" There every herd by tad experience knows 

How wing'd with fate their elf-abot arrows fly; 
When the nek ewe her anmmer-food forgoes. 
Or, itretch'd on earth, the hMrt-nnit beifiera 
Be." 

It may appear rather hazardous to employ the word 
noways In the opening sentence of the tale, after Ibe 
declaration of Dr. Johnson, who, in his derivation of no- 
mte, aaya " thii word is, by some ignorant barbarians, 
written and pronounced notimi/i." Few, howevo', now 
latetheantfaorityof Dr. Johnson very high upon any 
snlyect, and in e^mological ones it goes for nothing. 
Sir Walter Scott very slily remsrkR, when speaking 
of thegreateat of the Jonsons, old Bm, that "he is not 
die only (me ai the name that haa'bullied his con- 



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T«B LVOKY GUBin filT 

temporariei into taking hln at U« drnti fdaatim;" 
but the mn who wrote the Alrfijw^st wu certainly 
very far voftaaor in evcrj respect to the anthw of 

We cannot venture tleeidedlj to maintain that no- 
ways is the proper writhig of the word, for we know 
that our SaxMi anceiton more frequently employed 
pipe, mte, noduB, than pe;, iriof That we meet 
on nane pipui, i'b notcite; on o^jie pifan, otherteiit; 
tm Bttige piran, tn anywite; on tpa, on t;ieo pipui, 
in ftvo or three tcue. But we also meet Salle peja, 
omnibus modis, and ealne pej, tUuayt, semper. And 
beudei aiuiayi we still use tlraightwagt, lengiktmyt, 
and other similar adverbs, which would appear to in- 
dicate the former nae of several adverbs formed from 
pe; in the tegular Teutonic manner, that is, by a g»- 
nitive teirnination. Kowite and ruiwayt is, in Ger- 
man, keinewwegs. It is curious that the Saxon Gpt 
pma should have become efltoon*. 



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FAIRY LEGENDS. 

TEEASUEE LEGENDS. 



'■ Bell, book, snd cuidle, th^ not drive mc buk 
What gald uid lilver bcclu me to come on." 

KiKQ JOHK. 



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TREASURE LEGENDS. 



DREAMING TIM JARVI8. 

TiHorar Jarrii was a decent, honeBt, quiet, 
hard-working man, as erery body knows that 
knows Balledehob. 

~ , Now Balledebob is a nooll place,- about forty 
miles west of Cork. It is situated on the. sum- 
mit of a hill, and yet it is in a deep valley ; tot 
OB aH sides there are lofty mountains that rise one 
above another in barren pmideui, and seem to 
look down with Bcom upon the little busy village, 
which they surround with their idle and uii^i>- 
ductive magnificence. Man and beast have alike 
deserted them to the dominion of the eagle, who 
soars majestically over them. On the highest of 
those mountains there is a small, and as is com- 
monly believed, un&thomable lake, the only inha- 
Httint of which is a huge serpent, who has been 
sometimes seen to stretch its enormous head above 
the waters, and irequently is heard to utter a noise 
which shakes the very rocks to theii foundation. 



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2SS DKEAMING TIH JART18. 

But} ai I was atyiiig, erei7 body knew Tim 
Jarria to be a decent, honeat, quiet, hari-working 
man, who was thriving enou^ to be able to give 
hit daugbta NeUy a fintone erf ten ptmnds ; and 
Tim binuelf would have been mug enough be- 
■idea, but that he loved thedK){i aometimea. How- 
ever, he was seldom backward on rent daj. His 
ground WBi never diatiainad but twice, and botb 
times through a aTrmll bdt of a mistake ^ and his 
laaAirdhadnever bUtecuetoaaytohim — "Tim 
Jarvis, you 're aU behuid, Tin, like the cow's 
taiL" Now it BO happened that, being heavy in 
Uauelf, throu^ the drink, Tim took to deep- 
iag, and tfae sleep set Tim dieanmg, and he 
dMsmed sll si^t, and night after night, about 
omeks fuU. of gold and other predout atonea; bo 
muoh so, Uiat Norah Jarvis his wife could g«t no 
good of him by day, and have little oomfort with 
him by nig^. The gcey dawn of the morning 
wculd see Tim digging away in a bc^-hele, maybe, 
or leotiqg under some idd stone walls like a pig. 
At last he dreamt that he found a mighty great 
crock of g(dd and silver — and wbece, do you think ? 
Every st«p of the way upon London-bridge, itself ! 
Twice Tim dreamt itj and three times Tim dreamt 
the ume thing ; and at last he made up his mind 
to transport himself, and go over to London, in 
Pitt Mahouey'a coaster— and so be did ! 



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mUABUNO TIH JABTU. 2&S 

Well, he got there, and found the bridge with- 
out much difficult^.. Stray iay he wdked up 
and donmlookinglbr thf crock of gold, but neva; 
the find did be find it. One ixj, heweTer, as he 
was looking orcr the bridge into tke water, a man, 
or Mmethiiig like a man, nrith peat bUi^ whiiken, 
like a Heaaisii, and a blaf^ oloak dtat ic«ched down 
. to the ground, taps him on the .tbuilder, and lays 
he—" Tim Jairis, do you lee me i" 

" Surely I io, nr," Mid Tim ; wondering that 
ai^ body should kaow him in due strange place. 

" Tim," UTfl he, " what is it tnangs you here 
in foreign .parts, so far away &om your own satnn 
by the mine of giey capfa at Balledehob?" 

" Please your honour," says Tim, " I 'm come 
to sedc my fortune." 

" You 're a fool for your pauu, Tim, if that 's 
all," i^maiked !the dmoger in the >hlaek cloak; 
" ihisis.a'big place to seek one's fortiHiedn, to be 
sure, but it 's not lo^tasj to iind it." 

Now, Tim, after debating a long time with 
himself, and consideriiig, in the first place, that it 
might be the itrauger who was to find the crock 
eS gold for him ; and in the nest, that the stranger 
might direct him where to find it, came to the 
resolutiou of telling him aU. 

" There 's many a one like me comes here seek- 
ing their fortunes," said Tim. 



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UM BBSAXISO -Tllf uLBiaa. 

"■ True," uid the itaugeT. 
' " But," contiiiijed Tim, locddng up, " tb« baig 
ud bonei of the cauie for myielf Isaring Uie w^r 
man, and Nelly, and the hajv, and tntvelling to 
for, is to look for a crock of gold that I 'm tiAA la 
lying somewhere hereabouta." 

" And who told you that, Tim i" 

" Whj, then, sir, that 'b what I can't t^ ny- 
■elf rightly — only I dreamt it." 

" Ho, ho t ii that all, Tim ?" laid the atianger, 
Uu^ng ; " I had a dream myietf ; and I dreamed 
that I found a crock of gold, in the Fort field, on 
Jerry DriMM^'s ground at Balledehofa ; and \tf 
the same token, the pit where it lay was cilote to 
a large fuze bush, all full <tf yellow blossom." 

Tim knew Jerry DriscoU's ground well; and, 
moreover, he knew the fort field as wdl as he 
knew his own potatoe garden ; he was oertaia, 
too, of the very furze bush at the north end of it 
— so, swearing a bitter big oath, says he — 

" By all the crosses in a yard of check, I always 
thought there was money in that same field !" 

The moment be rapped out the oath the stranger 
disappeared, and Tim Jarris, wondering at all that 
had happened to him, made the best of his way 
back to Ireland. Norah, as may well be sup- 
posed, bad no very warm welcome fw her runaway 
husband — the dreaming blackguard, as she odlod 



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DRBAHIBO TIM JARTIS. 236 

him—and bo non u ihe wt eyes upon htm, all 
tlie blood (tf lier body in one minute wu into her 
knnckles to bs at him ; but Tim, after hij long 
journey, looked so cheerftil and so happy-like, that 
■be GOuld not find it in her heart to gire him the 
first blow i He managed to pacify bis wife hj 
two or three broad hints ahont a new cloak and a 
pair of shoes, that, to speak honestly, were much 
wanting to her to go to chapel in; aiid decent 
dodies for Nelly to go to the patron with her 
sweetheart, and brogues for the bc^j and some 
cordurc^ for himself. " It wasn't for nothing," 
says Tim, " I went to foreign parts all the ways; 
and you '11 see what 'II (wma out of it — mind my , 
words." 

A few days afterwards Tim sold his cabin and 
his garden, and bought the fbrt field of Jerry 
I^isGoll, that had nothing in it, but was full of 
thistles, and old stones, and blackberry bushes ; 
and all the neighbours— as well they mi^t — 
thmight fae was cracked ! 

The first night that Tim could summon courage 
to begin his work, he walked off to the field with 
his Qade upon his shoulder ; and away he dug all 
nig^t by the ude of the furze bush, till he came 
to a bag stone. He struck his spade against iti 
and he heard a hollow sound; but as the morning 
had b^un to dawn, and the neighbours would be 

PAHT II. Q 



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2S6 BBEAHINQ TIH JABVI8, 

goingout to their work, Tim, not wubing to Have 
the thing talked ahout, went home to the little 
bovd, wheie Xoiah and the childien were huddled 
together under a heap of straw ; for he had (old 
every thing he had in the world to purcbage Driv 
coll'i field, that was said to be " the bad-bone of 
the world, picked by the devil." 

It ia impogsihle to describe the epithets and re- 
proaches bestowed by the poor woman on her un- 
lucky husband for bringing her into such a waj. 
Epithets and reproaches which Tim bad but one 
mode of answering, as thus : — " Norah, did 70U 
see e'er a cow you 'd like }" — or, " Norah, dear, 
hasn't Poll Deasj a feather-bed to sell?" — or, 
" Norab, honey, wouldn't you like your silver 
buckles as big as Mrs. Doyle's?" 

As soon as night came Tim stood beside the 
. furze bush spade in hand. The moment hejumped 
down into the pit he heard a strange rumbling 
noise under him, and so, putting bis ear against 
the great stone, he listened, and overheard a dis- 
course that made the hair on his head stand up 
like bulrushes, and every limb tremble. 

" How shjill we bother Tim f" said one voiee. 

" Take him to the mountain, to be sure, and 
make him a toothful for the old serpent ; 'tis long 
since he has bad a good meal," said another voice. 

Tim shook like a potatoe-blossom in a storm. 



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DREAMtNO TIH JARTIS^ 227 

" No," said a tliird voice j " plunge him in the 
bog, neck and heels." 

Tim was a dead man, hairing the tireath'*. 

" Stop !" said a fourth ; hut Tim heard no more, 
for Tim was dead entirely- In about an hour, 
however, the life came bad into him, and he crept 
home to Norah. 

When the next night arrived the hopes of the 
crock of gold got the better of his fears, and taking ^ 
care to arm himself with a bottle of potheen, awaj 
he went to the field. Jumping into the pit, he 
took A little sup from the bottle to keep his heart 
up — he then took a big one — and then, with de- 
gpex&tt wrench, he wrenched up the stone. All at 
<Miee, up rushed a blast of wind, wild and fierce, and 
down fell Tim — down, down, and down he went 
— until he thumped upon what seemed to be, for all 
the world, like a floor of sharp pins, which made 
him bellow out in earnest. Then he heard a 
whisk and a hurra, and instantly voices beyond 
number cried out— 

" Welcome, Tim Jarvig, dear ! 
Welcome, down here I" 



icr W, s' hai fior li' irgejro 
i il' uDO e d' altro piivo." 
Dante Ihfebho, Canto 94 

g2 



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888 DBEAHim TIX JABVISt 

Tlunigb Tin's tee& diattared like magpie* viih 
the flight, he ctHitiiiiied to inaks. aasneiv— " I 'n 
he-b»-har'ti-l7 ob-ol>-li|^ to-to you all, gea-gpa- 
tlenWD, fo-fivyout civility to-to a poor stmagra Ii3w 
myuif" But though he had heard all the tom« 
about him, he oonld Kb oothii^ tlie jdaoe was so 
dark and bo lonesome in itaelf for wast of t)te 
light. Then aomathing pulled Tim by iIm hair 
of hii head, and dragged him, he did not know 
how far, but he knew he was going faster than 
the wind, for he heard it bekind him, trying to 
keep up with him, and it coOld not. On, on,, on, 
he wen^ till all at once, and suddenly, be was 
stopped, and somebody came up to him, and said, 
" Well, Tim Jarrts, and how do you like your 
ride ?" 

" Mi^l7 well ! I thank your boB«iir," said 
Tim ; " and 'twas a good beast I rode, surely !" 

There was a great laugh at Tim's sjuwer ; and 
then there was a whispering, aod a great cugger 
mugger, and coshering ; and at last a pretty little 
bit of a voice stud, " Shut your eyes, and you 11 
see, Tim." 

" By my wwd, then," said Tim, " that is the 
queer way of seeing; but I 'm not the man to 
gainsay you, so 1 11 do as you bid me, any how." 
Presently be felt a small warm hand rubbed over 
his eyes with an ointment, and in the next niiuute 



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DSEAHINQ TW JARVtft 9S9 

he KW bimwlf in themiddlerfthonttudstlfJittle 
tten and women, not lulf k> high u hii hrogDe, 
diat wrae pddng one aaotlm with gdlden guincM 
aadlfly-whitethirteani", liftboy were 8o much 
£zt. The finflat drened and the Uggest of tltem 
all went up to Tim, and mf» he, " Tim Jorrlt, 
hecauK you ue a decent, htmett, quiet, ciril, well- 
■pdcen man," bi^ he, "and know how to behave 
youndf in Btrange .oonqntny, we 've altered our 
mindi about you, and will find a neighbour <rf 
jours that will 60 jolt ai ¥Vell to give to the <dd 



" Oh, xIku, long life to you, mr!" nid Tim, 
" and tfaeie '■ no doubt of that." 

" But what will you atf, llm," inquind the 
little fellow, " if we fill yvor pockets with these 
yellow boys ? What will you say, Tim, and what 
will you do with tfaem?" 

" Your honour's hcnour, and yoar hononr'B 
gjory/' answered Tim, " 1 11 not be able to say 
my pn^en for qsk manth with thanking y«u~ 
and indeed I 've enou^ to do with them. I 'd 
make a ^tsod lady, you aee, tit owe of N«rah— 
she bm been a good wife to me. We 11 have a 
nice bit of potk for dinner; aad, auQrbe, I 'd have 
a ^asij cff maybe two glasMS ; <» a 



* An EogUih ihillfaig wu lUmcn -paiee Iiiih ciOMBcy. 



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S39 BBEAHINO TIH JABTIS. 

[twos with ft friend, or acquftintance, or gossip, 
you know, three g^iaaaes every day ; and I 'd bnild 
» new cabin ; ftud I 'd have a freah egg every 
Ou^ming, myself, for mj Iveak^t ; and I 'd sni^ 
my fingers at the 'squire, and best his bounds, if 
they 'd oome coursing thrcmgh my fields ; and I'd 
have a new. plough; and Norah, your honour, 
should have a new cloak, and the boys should have 
shoes and stockings as well as Biddy Leary's beats 
T— that's my sister what was— and Nelly riiouU 
many Bill Long of Affiidown ; and, your honour, 
I'd have some corduroy for myself to make breediei^ 
aod a cow, and a beautiiul coat with shining but- 
tons, and a horse to ride, oi maybe two. I 'd have 
every thing," sud Tim, "in life, good or bad, that 
is to be got for love or money — hurra- whoc^ !*— 
and that 's what I 'd.do." 

" Take care, Tim," said the little fellow, " your 
money would not go faster than it came, with 
your hurta- whoc^" 

But Tim heeded not. this, speedi : beapt of gold 
were around him, and he filled and filled away, as 
bard. as he could, his coat and his vraisteoat and 
his breeches pockets j and, he thou|^t himself very 
i^ver, moreover, because he stufied some of the 
guineas into his brogues. When the little.peo^ 
perceived this, they cried out—" Go home, Thn 
Jarvis, go home, and think yourself a lucky man." 



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DRfiAHlNO TIM JABVIS. SSI 

" I hope, gentlemen," laid he, " we won't part 
tor good and all j but majbe jt'\l adc me to see 
jou again, and to give you a fiur and iquara ac- 
count of iritat I 've done with your money." 

To this there was no answer, only another 
8hout-r-"Qo home, Tim Jarvis — go liome — fair 
play is a jewd ; but shot your eyes, or ye 11 never 
see the light of day again." 

Tim shut his eyes, knowing now that was the 
way to see clearly ; and away he was whisked as 
before — away, away he went 'till he again stopped 
all of a sudden. 

He rubbed his eye* with his two thumha — mi 
where was he i — Where, hilt in the very pit in 
the field that was Jer Driscoll's, and his wife 
Noiah above with a big stick ready to beat " her 
dreaming bkckguard." Tim roared out to the 
woman to leave the life in him, and put his hands 
in his pockets to show her the gold ; but he pulled 
out nothing only a handful of small stones mixed 
with yellow furze blossoms. The bush was under 
him, and the great flag-stone that he had wrenched 
up, as he thoa^t, was lying, as if it was never 
stirred, by bis side : the whiskey bottle was drained 
to the last drop ; and the pit was just as his spade 
had made it. 

Tim Jarvis, vexed, disappointed, and almost 



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Stt aUEMAUHO TtM JAATM. 

bMrt-bRihea,fdl0wed bis Wife home: udiStRmge 
to sKf, ttota that nigbt he left off drinking and 
dmtnniiig, and ddving in bog-lwlaa, and nioting 
inoldcavet. Het^ok again to lus.h>id wcddag 
habits, and wa« soon aUe to buj back his little 
cabin and former potato-gardeti, and to get all the 
EnJDjment he antidpsted Irom the biiy gold. 

Gire Tim one or, at nuxt, two glasies of whisky 
punch (and neitlieT friend, acquaintance, or gonip 
can nuke bint take more), and he will relate the 
■tor^ to jon much better than jrou have it heie. 
Indeed it ii worth going to Balleddob to h<ac 
hiBi tell iL He always pledga himaelf to the 
truth of every word with hii fore-fingen crooed ; 
and when he oranes to speak of die loas of hii 
guineas, ke never fails to console himself by addii^ 
— " If they staid with me I wouldn't have luck 
with them, sir ; and father O'Shea told me 'twas 
as well for me tbey were chuiged, for if they 
hadn't, they 'd have burned hdes in my pocket, 
tad got out that way." 

1 shall never foi^et ^" yil^nm conntenanoe, 
and the deep tones at his warning vwee, when fas 
Donduded his tale, by tdliog me, that the nest 
day after his ride with the fairies, Mick Dowlii^ 
was missing, and be believed him to be given to 
the serpent in his place, as He had never been 



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]inai >of Bince. " Tbe UfiMJng of the snnts 'be Ixf 
twerai bU good men andharm," was the concludiiig 
sentence of Thn J-BrrinTatiaiTatiTe, as lie flung the 
temoining drops from his glass upon the green 

BW&rd. 



In Gtimni'* Dents^e Sagan (toL i. p. X90) tbi's 
tale, irHch is «]«> cnntnit, with little Tariation, In 
the East, is fhv related : — " A nan mee dreamed that 
If he went 10 Scgembnrg and inUked on the Inidge 
he should become rich. He treat aceordiiiiJy ; and 
ithui he had fpnt star a fortnight woUcing Mok- 
warda tni fonrards «n Uw bridge, a rich merchaBt 
quae up to him, wanderii^ what be wa« doing them 
eveij day, and aeked him what he was looking 
for ; he aoawered th^t he had dieamed if be would 
go to the twidge itf B^enehurg he should beoone rich. 
' Ah !' *aid the merchant, ' what do you say aboM' 
dreuni ? — Dreuni ate bnt froth fTVSume itnd 
SehSumeJ. I loo have dreamed that there is buried 
under ytmder laige tree (pointing to it) a great kettle 
fuHofmonej; bnt I give no heed to this, for dieanw 
»e iroth' (Trlbmte rind SchSntuJ. 

" The nun went immediately and dug under the 
twe, And then he get a gveat trcanne, which made a 
rich man of him; and so his dream was aocomidiBhed. 

"Thiaatery/' nfa Aj^io^, "X bavei^enbeMd 



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8S4 DSEAHIVG TIM JAEriS. 

from my father. The Bune rior; !■ told of serenl 
other pkces. At Lnbeck it wai a baker'B boy who 
dieaned he ilurald find a trean:re on the bridge. 
Od the bridge he met ft beggar, irho said be had 
dreaioed there wu one under a lime-tree in the 
diurch-yard of Mullen, bnt that he would not take 
the trouble of going there. The baker's boy went and 
got tlie treasure." 

Predsely the same l^end is recorded in the Daiiske 
Folkesagn (vol. it p. fUi), of a man at a place called 
All, who dreamed he should find a treasore in the 
■treets of Flensboi^ and was directed bkck to.Tanslet 
near Ali. Bnt perhap* there la no country in which 
this story is not current. 

Bhould any reader be fortunate enough td dream ot 
buried money, it may be of some advantage to know 
the proper "artandorder" to be used in digging for it. 

" There must be made npon a hazel wand three 
crosaes, and certain words, both blasphemous and im- 
pious, must be said over it ; and hereunto must be 
added certain charscten and barbaroui names. And 
whilst the treasure is a-dtgging, there must be read 
the psalms De profundi), MUereattir na«fn'. Requiem, 
Paitr Hotter, Ave Maria, Et tie not indacas in teit- 
laiionem, ted libera not a malo. Amen, A porta it^enti 
credo videre bona, ifc, and then a certain prayer. And 
if the time of di^ng be neglected the devil will carry 
all. die treasure away." Seg. Scot. Diteoverie of 
Witchcraft, p. 102. 

All moneyT<Ugg«n, howeyer, ought to. btke wamii^ 



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DHEAMING TIH JARVI6. 3S5 

bf tlie fate of one reeoided in Dodale;'* AhhimI R»> 
gUler for ITT 4. 

"Daniel Heale; of DonogliinoTe, in lTe]tiid,baTing 
three different timea dreamed that money< ]mj concealed 
under a large Btone in a field near where he lived, pro* 
cured some workmen to assiat him in remoTing it; 
and when they had dug as far ai the foundation, it 
suddenly fell and lulled Healey on the spot." 



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RENTJJAY. 

" Oh ullagon^ uUagone ! tliis is a wide world, 
but what will we do in it, or where will we go i" 
muttned Bill Doodf, as he sat on a rock by the 
Lake of Killamey. " What will we do ?. to- 
nunrrow 's rent-day, and Tim the Driver swean 
if we don't pay ap our rent, he '11 cant ever; 
hdperth we have ; and then, sure enough, there 's 
Judy and in3rsdf, and the poor little granU* will 
be turned out to staire on the high road, for the 
never a halipeimy of rent have 1 1 — Oh hone, 
that ever I should live to see this day !" 

Thus did Bill Doody bemoan bis bard fate, 
pouring his sorrows to the reckless waves of the 
most beautiful of lakes, which seemed to mock his 
misery as they rejoiced beneath the cloudless sky 
of a May morning. That lake, glittering in sun- 
shine, sprinkled with fairy isles of rock and ver- 
dure, &nd bounded by giant hills of ever- varying 



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REMT-DAV. 23T 

hoes, mii^t, wiA its magie besntjr, charm all 
saiioesi but deqMur; for alu, 

" How ill the scene that ofien rest 
And heart that cannot rest agree '." 

Vet Bill Doodjr was not so desolate aa he SU]^ 
posed; thatvns tme listening to him he little 
thoogfat ctf, and help was M hand from a quarter 
he could not hare expected. 

" What 's the matter wi& jaot mj poor, tasa i" 
said a tall poitljr-lookii^ gentlefaaii, M the mbw 
time stepping out wf a fucxe brake. Nonr Bill 
ffas seated on a lock that commanded the yisw at 
a large field. Nothing is the field could be con- 
cealed from him, except this furzeJinke, vhicb 
grew in a hidlovr near the mai^ii of Uie li^. 
He was, therefcare, not ft litde nirpnied at the 
gentleman's sudden appeaiamx, and began to 
question whether the penooage befiire him b^ 
longed to this world or not. He, howerer, socm 
mustered courage sufficient to tell him how his 
crops had &iled, how some bad member had 
channed away his butter, and how Tim the 
Driver threatened to turn him out of the tana 
if he didn't pay up every penny of the rent by 
twelve o'clock nest day. 

" A sad story, in&ed," said the stranger ; " but 

t 



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faa BSVT-SAT. 

nirely, if jrou represented the esse to 70U1 l&nd- 
lord's agent, he won't have the heart to turn you 

" Heart, jaai honour I where would an agent 
get a heart !" exdaimed Bill. " I see your ho- 
nour does not know him ; besides, he has an eye 
on the farm this long time for a fosterer of his 
own ; so I expect no mercy at all, at all, only to 
be turned out" 

" Take this, my poor fellow, take Ihis," said 
the strwiger, pouring a purse fuR of gold into 
Bill's old hat, which in his grief he had flung <m' 
the ground. " Pay the fellow your rent, but I *11 
take care it shall do him no good. I remember 
the time when things went otherwise in this 
country, when I would hare hung up such a fel- 
low in the twinkling of an eye !" 

These w«Hds were lost upon Bill, who was in- 
sensible to every thing but ihe sight of the gold, 
and before he could unfix his gaze, and lift up 
his head to pour out his hundred thousand blesH 
ings, the stronger was gone. The. bewildered 
peasant looked around in search of his benefactor, 
and at last he thought he saw him riding on a 
white horse a long way off on the lake. 

" O'Donoghue, O'Donoghue !" shouted Bill ; 
" the good, the blessed O'Donoghue f and he ran 



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capering like a madman to show Judy the gold, 
and tbrejoicelierheanwiththepnMpect of wealth 
' and happiness. 

The next day Bill proceeded to the agent's; 
not snealcingly, with his hat in hia hand, his eyes 
fixed on the ground, and hia knees bending under 
him ; but ixM and upright, like a man conscious 
c^ his independence. 

"Why don't you take off your hat, fellow; 
don't you know you are speaking to a magistrate ?" 
said the agent. 

" I know I 'm not speaking to the king, sir," 
said Bill ; " and I never takes off my hat but to 
them I can respect and love. The Eye that sees 
all knows I 've no right either to respect or love 

" You scoundrel !" retorted the man in office, 
biting his- lips with rage at such an unusual and 
unexpected opposition, " I '11 teach you how to be 
insolent again — I have the power, remember." 

" To the coat of the country, I know you have," 
Slid Bill, who still remained with his head as 
tirmly covered as if he was the lord Kingsale him- 
self. 

" But, come," said the magistrate ; " have you 
got the money for me ? — this is rent-day. If 
there 's one penny of it wanting, or the running 
gale that 'a due, prepare to turn out before night. 



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for you shall not remaia another botir In pos- 
sewon. 

" Thete is your rent," said Bill, with an im- 
moredexpieasiimofteiieaiidGatintenaiiGe; "you'd 
better count it, and ^ve me a receipt ia fiUl f<» 
the running gale and all." 

Tlie agent gave a look c£ amazement at the 
gold ; for it was gold — real guineas ! and not bits 
of dirty raffed small notes, that are only fit to 
light one's pipe with. HoweTcx willing the agent 
may have been to ruin, as he thought, the unfor- 
tunate tenant, be took up the gold, and handed 
the receipt to Bill, who strutted off with it as 
proud at a cat of her whi^ers. 

The agent going to his desk shortly after, was 
confounded at beholding a heap of gingerlKeod 
cakes instead of the money be bad deposited there. 
He raved and swore, but all to no purpose j the 
gold hod become gingerbread cakes, just marked 
like the guineas, with the king's head, and Bill 
had the receipt in his pocket ; so he saw there was 
so use in saying any thing about the affair, as he 
would only get lauded at for his pains. 

From that hour Bill Doody grew rich ; all hii 
undertakings prospered ; and he often blesoss the 
day that he met with O'Doni^hue, the great {ffince 
that lives down under the lake of Killamey. 



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SXHX-BAT. Hd 

. ^natbvligeBdMivectiiig tbei9putiaueffO'S>0> 
noglme u given in the preceding volume, irhwe, to 
use the words of Hiu Lub;, (the £tir miiwtfrel vf |tU- 

" Aerial spirits in a heavenly throng 
' Skim the blue naves, and follow him along." 
Spirit of the Lakes, c. ii. 

Wben at Killame; in the apring of 1825, the writer 
received the following acconnta of the appearance of 
O'DonoghHe frooi flct»al qiectatw*. The fliit from a 
mMi wtio waa ctnployEd in the mines at Ress about 
'4wdve or thirteen years before, when colonel Hall 
b«d carried an exeaTBtiMi under the lake, which in- 
vasion of his dominioBS was popularly cmuidered to 
tie estretnely ofienaive to (yDonoghue. 

" I saw him, air," be continued, " early in the morn- 
ing, when the water broke into the mines, sweeping' 
all before it like a raging aea, and made the workmBO 
fly for their lives. It was just at daybreak diat morn- 
ing I saw him on the lake, followed by numbers of 
men mounted upon horaebaek like carvaUj) (cavJry), 
and each having a drawn sword as bright aa the day 
in his right basd, and a caHnmek (carbine) elnng at 
the aide of himself and his horse ; a thing like a great 
Mnt oame down &om the sky, and covered tbem all 
ever, and when it cleared away nothing more of C^D^ 
iMIgbKeor hia.men was to be aeen." 

The other account was given by a boatman nanally 
«Ul«d (firam his familiarity with the great chieftain) 

FAST II. R 



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IB4S REirr-DAY. 

O'Don^hue, but whose real Dune wu Edward Doc^ 
linj and the BCcnracj of l)u ■utement is conflnnad 
b; Tim Lyncj the old coxBwtin. 

" Ten yean ago we went out about aeren o'clock 
in the morniDg to make a long day an the lakes; tbe 
wat«t was calm and the sun was Rhining hright, and 
it was ju«t nine o'clock when we uw O'Donoghne 
goii^ from tlie ' hsif-moon' of Toomies round Rabbit 
Island. He was dressed in while, with a cocked-hat, 
and shoes with gieat budcles in them. Mid be walked 
rer; imart on the water, spattering it up befbre him ; 
James Curtin, who pulled the bow oar, saw him, too, 
for as good as seven minutes, and be is alive and able 
to ^leak the truth be well as myself. We had two 
gentlemen in the boat at the time. One of tbem was 
a counsellor Moore from Dublin, and they made gnat 
wonder at the slghL O'Donoghue, when be finds 
poor travellers benighted, who are coming for Kfl- 
lamey, takes tbem down into his palace below the 
lake, where he entertains them grandly without then 
paying any cost. The white horse that he sometimes 
rides, and whose image is in a rock upon the lake, is 
called Crebough." 

The drcnlation of money bestowed by the fairies 
0* snpematural personages, like that of connterftit 
coin, is sddom extensiTe. The story in the Arabian 
Nights, of the old rogue whose Hne-looking money 
turned to leaves, must be familiar to every reader. 
When Walderaar, Holger, and Grten Jette, in Dknish 
tradition, beatow money upon the Boon whom tbqr 



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RBNT-DAT. 243 

meet, their gin somedme* turns to Are, Mmetliiies to 
pebbles, and Kunetimes Is sa hot, thftt the receiver 
drops it from his hand, when the gold, oi wliat seemed 
to be so, unks into the ground and disappears. In 
•oine cases these changes take place as in the fore- 
going tale, after the Boors have parted with their 
raouer. If a piece of coal, or sny thing in appear- 
snoe equally valueless, is given, it slwBys, if kept, 
pnwea to be gold. The travelling muHcians, who 
bad the honour to pis; before the enchanted Oeman 
RnpeTOT, Frederick, in the mountain in which be re- 
ndes, were each rewarded by the monarch with a green 
bnuidi. Highly incensed at such shabby wages, they 
all except one flung away thegift, and went out of the 
nteuntain. One minstrel, however, who kept bis bnmch 
found it growing heavy in his hand, and on esamina- 
tion he discovered that it was composed of pure gold. 
His companions immediately went back to look for 
UiMB which they had thrown away, but their bi 
wcce not to be found. 



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SCATH-A-LEGAUNE. 

" Well, for sure and certain, there must be 
something in it," said Johnny Gurtm, as he awnbe 
and stretched hinuelf one fine morning, " fcv ccs^ 
tain there must be soinetluiig in It, i^ he 'd Dever 
httve come the third time. Troth and faith, as I 
can't do it mjBeii without help, I 'Q just spe^ 
to the master about it, for half a loaf is better 
than no bread any day in the year." 

Johnny Curtin WHS a poor scholar; he had been 
stopping for the last week at the house of Dili 
Casaidy, a snug fanner, who lived not far from 
the fine old abbey of Holy Cross, in the coun^ 
of Tipperary. Mr. Cassidy was a hearty man, 
and loved a story in hb soul ; and Johnny Cur- 
tin had as good a budget of old songs, and stories , 
of every bind and iort, as any poor scholar that 
ever carried an ink-hottle dangling at his breast, 
or a weU- thumbed book and a slate under his arm. 
He was, moreover, as good a man ina hay-field, 
for a boy of his years, as need to be, so that no 
one was a more welcome guest to Dick Cassidy in 
harvest time than Johnny Curtin. 

The third night after Johnny had taken up hit 



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SCATH-A-LEeATTlfE. S45 

quarten at Caaaidy's faim-hooae, after sitting up 
very late, and telling his most wonderful stories 
to Dick and the children, Johnny went to sleep 
on a shake-down (of straw) in a comer, and there 
he dreamed a dream. For he thoaght thai en 
old man, with a fine long beard, and dressed 
&oin head to foot in the real old ancient Irish 
ftshion, came aad stood beside him, and called 
him by his aame. 

" Johnny Curtiiij my child," said the old man, 
" do yon know where you are ?" 

" I do, sir," said Johnny, though great was 
his surprise. " I do, sir," said he ; "I am at 
Dick Caaaidj's." 

" John, do you know," says ha, " that this 
land belmged, in the good old time^ to your own 
pet^le f" 

" Oh I 'm sure," s^ Johnny, " it 's little my- 
■dbT knows about my own people, beyond my fi^ 
ther and my mother, who, when one would catch 
the fish, the other would sell it ; hot this I know, 
if 'tis as your honour says, aoid not doubting your 
word in the least, that 1 wiA my own people had 
kept their loud, that I mi^t hara got the laming 
without begging fisr it &om door to door throu^ 
the country." 

" John," said the dA man, " there *> a treasmse 
not &r &(m this that hehmged to the family, and 



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S46 SCATH-A-LIO&UHE. 

if 70D get it, it will make jrou, taiA GAyhkkytKt, 
as ridi as kingt. Now, mind mj words, J<dni 
CuTtiD, for I have come to put 7011 in the ti|^t 
waj. You know the height abore the abfaef'— 
the Uessed fpot where the piece of tlie holy aeon 
fell £mm its conceahnent at the Bweet aoand of 
the abbe7 belli, and where the good woman met 
her son, after his haring travelled to Jousalem fiir 
it f You know the old bush that ia standing tkoe 
— Scath-a-hgaune—in the bl^ situation, dose 
to the road, upon the little bank of earth and 
■tones? dig just six feet from it, in a line with 
the tower of the old abbej; the wo^ must be done ' 
in the dead hour of the night, and not a wi^ aiust 
be spc&en to living man." 

When Johnny woke next morning he recollected 
every part of hig dream well, but he gave no great 
heed to it. The next night he dreamed that' the 
tamo old man came to him 'aAuin arid spok^ tW 
very game words ; and in the course c^ the day 
following, he could not help going up to Sesth-a- 
legaune, to take a look at the old bush and the 
little bank (£ stones and earth, but slali he thou^t 
it all nonsense going di^ng there. At last, when 
the ' old Tfinn came to tiim in hi* sleep the thiid 
time, and seemed rather aa^y with him, he re- 
solved to broach the matter to Dick after break- 
fast, and see if he would join him in the search; 



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SCATU-A-LBGAUHE. S4T 

Now Dick Gofisidy, like many wiser men, w«s a 
firm ' beUever in dieams ; and Dick waa also a 
prudent man, and willing to better himself and hii 
family in any honest way, so. he gave at once into 
Johnny's proposal, that they should both go the 
next night and dig mider the bush. When Cas- 
aidy mentioned tltis scheme to Peggy bia wife, she 
being a religious woman, wag much against it, and 
wjuited Dick not to go, and tried to persuade him to. 
take neither hand, nor act, nor- part in it ; but Dick' 
was too sensiUe a man, and too fond of his own 
way, to be said by any foolish woman : so it was. 
settled, that at twelve o'clock he . and Johnny 
Gurtin should take spade, pick-axe, and crow-bar 
with them, and set out for the budi, having agreed 
todiride &iiiy between them whatever they should 
get. 

After a good supper, and a stiff jug of punch 
to keep their hearts up, Mr. Cassidy and Johnny 
Curtin, regardless of the admonitions of Pe^y, 
set out. They had to pass dose under the walls 
rf the old abbey, and the wind, which was rather 
high, kept flapping the branches of the ash and ivy, 
liackwardB and forwards, and now and then gome' 
of the old stones would tumble dovra, and the 
hpughs would move and creak with a sound' just 
tike the voice of some Christian that nas.in.pdn. 



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S48 8CATH-A-LROAITKE. 

Dii^ snd iAnaj, with all tltrar tonragv, were 
■ot niut^ MBDFsd at bearing tliu ; bot thej did 
not remain verj long to liiten, ^nd cnxBing the 
bridge with all coDrenient spenl, directed their 
Hteps towards Scath-a-legaiine. When thej got 
to tbe <^ bush, Dkk, witbcmt a moment's delafi 
threw cffbia coat, stepped tbe sU feet of gnmnd 
from the little bonk towwrds tbe tower of the 
abbey, and began to tnm op the sod, and then to 
dig bud and &st; , Johnny all tbe time stood hj, 
prajing to ti-imfilf^ And wigVin g pious signs on 1*^* 
forriieHd and hriMb. When Dick bad dug tot 
better than an hour, be tbund his ipade strike 
against something hard. He cleared out the loose 
earth firom the hole he had nude, Euid then fouad 
that he had come to a great broad flag-stone whicb 
was lying quite flat : he saw plainly that he and. 
Jijbany conld no more lift it dian tbey could fling 
the rock (tfCasbel back agnn into the ]>evil'g tat; 
to he got up out of the hcde and made motions to 
Johnny Curtiii, nrindiDg wdl not to ^eak a word ; 
and tb^ tbrew in pore of the day to cover up the 
Sxgj and went home to bed plamniiig to get matt 
help ag^nst the next ni^t, and folly convinced 
(rf success. 

The next day Csssidy pitched on tbree of his 
belt and stoutest men, and in the evening early 



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SCATH-A-IiEOADIfE. 249 

tocA tkem down to thcsignof the Saint*, k^t by 
one Mullowney in the village, and prtipimeA the job 
to tbem, after giving eacli a mnuner of Rowrea t. 
Tbey bcdtated at the Boat, laying it ww not 
htekj, and they never heard of good that came 
out of money that vm got at through the meant 
of dretnnB, and M on, until Dick ordered a tecond 
lummer fn every man : then he made Johnny teU 
them his dream over again &om banning to eBd> 
BBd he aaked Uiem, if they could see any reaion 
iq^on ear^ to doubt what Johnny Cnrtin told 
them, or that the old man exam to him through 
his sleep, and he able to mention every pin'i wort)) 
o£ his dress. Dkk argued with them in this man- 
ner, saying a thousand things more of the same 
U&d, until th^ made an end of their drink, and 
d><en he made an offer of giving them a fair share 
of whateveF monc^ vras undesr the flag-stone. 

The men at last wore overrpersuaded ; and be- 
tween eleven md twelve they set out, ^wovided 
with spades, shovels, and good cniw>harB. When 
thcfy came to the rise of the hdght, Johnny stopped, 
and again told them that all their work was sure 
to fail if any one spoke a word ; and he said that 
silence must be kept, let what would happen, ath»- 
wise there was no chance of ""^''"g out tlie trea- 

• Patndu t Whisky. 



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290 BCATH-A-LBGAUNK. 

■ore that beyond all doubt was lying there buiied 
down in die ground. 

They cleared away the earth &om off the stone, 
and got the crow-bars under it. The first prise 
they gave they thought they heard a rumbling 
noise below : they stopped and listened for a mi- 
nute or more, but all was silent as the grave. 
Agtun they beared, and there was a noise like, as 
if a door was dapped to violently. The men hesi- 
tated, but Dick Cassi^ and Johnny, by signs, en- 
couraged tbem to go on. They then made a great 
effort and raised the stone a little, while Jobnny 
and Tom Doyle wedged in the handles of their 
spades, and with their united strength the fiag 
was canted fairly over. 

Beneath there was a long flight of steps, so they 
lit a piece of candle which th^ had brought with 
them, and down the steps they went, one after 
the other. The steps, when they got to the end 
of them, led into a long passage, that went some 
way, and there tbey would have been stopped by 
a strong door, only it was half open. They went 
in boldly, and saw another door to the left, which 
was shut. There was a little grate in this door, 
and Dick Cassidy held up the light while Ned 
Flaherty hxAed in. 

" Hurra !" cried Ned, the minute he put his 
eye to the bars,' and straightways making a blow 



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8CATH-A-LEGAVME. 9fil 

at the door, with the crow-bar En his hand— 
" Jluira, boys !" laji he ; " by Noonaa's ghost I 
we are all made men !" 

The woids had hazdly passed his lips when 
there was a tremendous crashing noise, just as if 
tlie whole place was &lUng inj and then came a 
screeching wind fnnn the inner room tliat whisked 
out the light, and threw them all on the ground 
flat on their faces. When they recovered them- 
selves they hardly remembered where they were, 
w what had happened, and they had lost all the ' 
gec^rephy of the place. They groped and tumbled 
about for a long time, and at last they got, with 
&Uing and roaring, to the door where they had 
come in at, and made their way up the steps into 
the tidd. On looking towards the abbey, there 
was a bright flame on the top of its tower, and 
Bill Sunn would have swom he saw a figure of 
something, he could not rightly make out what, 
in the middle of it, dancing up and down. 

Frightened enough they were at the sight, for 
they plainly perceived something was going ok 
wliich they could not understand, so they made tb^ 
best of their way home ; but it was little any of 
them could sleep, as may well be supposed, after 
what had happened. 

Next morning they all held a council about what 
was further to be done — Mr. Caaady and Johnny. 



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S59 BCATH-A-LSeADMB. 

Ctutin, Tom Do7le, and Bill Dunn, and Ned Fla* 
Iieit^, wbow tongne was the reason of their not 
being 'all rich men. Some were ibr giving the biut- 
itw up entirely, but more were for trying it agun ; 
and at last Dick Cmudj said he was resolved to 
go to it the third time, since he was now certain 
thecoin was there; ibr Ned Flaherty swore he saw 
a mint of money, beside gold and silver vessels in 
heaps, and other grand things that he could not 
tell the use of. It was settled, however, to Aa 
nothing the next night. 

In the middle of the itkj Dick took Johnny with 
him, and walked over to look at the place where 
they had heen digging; l]ut what was their asto- 
nishment to find the ground ai smooth and as even 
as if there had not been a tpoAe put into it since 
the days of Brian Boro ! Not a morsel of day was 
to be seen, and the white daisies and the glon^ 
ydlow botter-cups were growing up through the 
green grass as gaily there, as if nothing hod ev^ 
happened to disturb them. 

That night Johnny Curtin had another dream. 
The very same old man came to him, and looked 
dark and angry at him for not having followed his 
direotioni ; and told Johnny that he had no rig^ 
to think, and that if his laming made him think 
ha was better wHhout it, he had lost all chance cf 
pnwing rich, and would be a poor scholar to llie 



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ACATH-^I^SAUMK. S58 

end of fuB <cfaiys ; for the place was now shut up 
for uiotlier handled yean, and that it would be 
dangentus for him or any one else t( 
there until that time was out. 



The stories about tressure, which faai been di»- 
eovered through spiritual agency, or that of dreams, 
are so numerous that, if collected, many volumes might 
be filled with [hem ; yet they vary little in their de- 
tails, beyond the actors and localities. 

The following legends, two of which are translated 
from the Bani^, will sufficiently prove this assertion, 
although they illustrate nearly the extreme variations: 
There are sUIl to be seen near Fleusborg the mina 
of a very ancient building. Two soldiers once stood 
on guard there tt^ether; but when one of them wu 
gone to the town, it chanced that a tall white woman 
came to the other, and spoke to him, and said, I am 
an unhappy spirit, who have wandered here these 
many hundred years, but never shall 1 find rest in the 
grave. She then infornied him, that under the walls 
of the castle a great treasure was conceaied, nhidionly 
three men in the whole world could take up, and that 
he was one of the three. The man, who now saw that 
his fortune was made^ promised to follow her direo 
tioos in every particular, whereupon she desired him 
to come to the came place at twelve o'clock the foUow- 
ti^n^ 



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SSI SCATH-A-LKGAinC£. 

The Other wldier meanwhile had come back tttm 
the town, just ts the appoiDtmcnt was made with his 
comrade. He said nothing about what unseen he had 
^n and heard, but went early the next evening, and 
concealed bfanself among tome buEhei. Wben his fd- 
low-Eoldier came with hia spade and shovel he found 
the while woman at the appointed place, but whenshe 
perceived that the; were watched she put o&'the buu- 
neas till the next evening. The man who had lain 
on the watch to no purpose, went home, and suddenlf 
fell ill ; and aa he thought that he should die of that 
uckneas, he sent for his comrade, and told him how 
he kneiT all, and conjured him not to have any thing 
to do with wit^ei or with apirita, but rather to aeA 
connsel of the priest, who was a prudent man. The 
other thought it would be his wisest plan to follow the 
advice of his comrade, bo he went and discovered the 
whole afiUr to the priest, who, however, desired him 
to do 89 ihe spirit had bid him, only to make her lay 
the first hand to the work herself. 

The appointed time was now arrived, and the man 
was at the place. When the white woman had pointed 
out to him the spot, and they were just b^inning the 
work, she said to him, that when the treagnre was taken 
up, one half of it ahould be hia, but that he must 
divide the other half equally between the church 
and the poor. Then the devil entered into the man, 
and awakened hit covetouinesa, so that he cried out, 
"^Fhat! shall I not have' the whole?" But scarcely 
had he spoken, when the figure, with a most mournful 



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BCATH-A-LEGAU»E. 255 

wail, piued in a blue fiarne ovei the most of the cwtle, 
and the man fell dck, and died within three days. 

The Btorjp Mwn spread through the country, and a 
poor scholar who heard it thought he bad now an o^ 
portunity of making hia fortune. He therefore went 
at midnight to the place, and there be met with the 
wandering white woman ; and he told her why be wta 
come, osd offered hta seiriceG to raise the treaanre. 
But she anaweted him that he was not one of the three, 
one of whom alone could free her ; and that the wall 
would Btill remain so firn), that no human being ebonld 
be able to break it. Bhe further lold him, that at some 
future Ume he sboidd be rewarded for hia good in- 
clination. And it if sud, that when a long time aftfer 
he passed b; that place, and thought with compaa- 
sion on the BuSerlngH of the unbleat woman, he fell 
onhisfaceoveragreat heap of money, which soon put 
hira again on his feet But the wall still stands un- 
disturbed ; and as often as any one has attempted to 
throw it down, nbaterer ia thrown down in the day 
is replaced again in the night. — Dtauke FoUcetofcn, 
vol. VI- p. 33. 

Three men went once, iu the night-time, to Klum- 
h<ii, to try their luck, for a dragon watches there o?er 
a great treaaure. They dug into the ground, giving 
ttch other a strict charge not to utter a word, what- 
ever might happen, otherwiae all their labour would 
be in vain. When they had dug pretty deep, their 
ipadea struck against a copp» chest ; they then made 



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Aigns tg «M MHtiher, aikl mli, viiii botl> IwBdf,hid 
hold af ft gre*t copper ring that was oi tbe top of ibe 
chest, and pulled up the IreMure; butwl^ea th^.had 
jnU cot it iDto UuiipOBKBiw, gne of them fot|^^ 
MCCMity of nlesoe, ami touted out, " One pull rukg, 
and we haw itl" That very iD^Uot the cheat flur 
amy ont of tbeif hands to the Jake of Stujerop, but 
ai they all held bard on the ring h reoiauitd in their 
ptap. They weut uid fastened tlte ring aa the dooi 
of St. Olai's church, and there it remaiRH to this vtny 
inj—Daiuke Pottctiagn, vol. i. p. 1 la. 

" In the next country to that of my ftvmer.ne- 
aidcDce," says Kirke, in his Secret ComnioQwealtb, 
" Bbout the year 1616, when there was some scarcity 
of pwn, aroarvellouB illapae anil visiqa strongly .struf^ 
the iraaginfttion of two women in one night, living ft 
a good lUatance from one another, about a trea^me 
hid in a bill, coUed Sithbhtnaieh, or fairy hill. . The 
appearance of a treasure was first reiweaented to the 
fancy, and then an audible voice named the pla^ 
where it was to their awaking senaea. Whereupon, 
both arose, and meeting accidentally at the place 
diKcovered their design, and jointly digging, found a 
vessel «s large as a Scottish peck full of small pieces 
of good money of aiiGient coin, which .halving betwixt 
them, they sold in dishfulls for dishfiills of meal 10 
the Eoun try-people. Very many of undoubted credit 
saw and had of the coin to this day. But whether it 
jras a good or bad angel, we of the subterranean 



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•CATU-A-IEOADMB. Wt 

pMplc, or the loal of htm who hid it thkt diieomed 
ft, and to wbftt end it waa douD, I leave to the ex- 
sraiaation of other*." — P. I'i. 

The ■ppearuce of tbe tower of Holy Crhs Abbef 
(» ftre if R common nipemitiirtl illssioi]. Another 
iltustration ia oSfered from the DansJce Folkesagn, 
which niBj be acceptable, aa Mr. Thiefe'a curioua 
work it little known to the Englich reader. 

" Near Daagatnip there ia a hill which is called 
Dai^bgerg Dona. Of thi* bill it ia related that it ia 
■t all linleB covered with a bine mwt, aiid that under 
it there lies a large copper kettle full of money. One 
nigbt two men went there to dig after thia treacure, 
and they had got so far aa to have laid hold of tbe 
handle of the kettle. All aorta of wonderful tbinga 
began then to appear to diaturb them in their work- 
One tdme a coach, drawn by four black horses, ilrove 
by them ; then tbey aaw a black dog with a (ietj 
tongue, then there came a cock drawing a load of 
bay. But still the men peraiated in not letting them- 
aelvea be induced to speak, and still dog on without 
slopping. At last a fellow came limping by thetn 
and aaid, ' See, Daugatrup ia on fire !' and when they 
looked towards tbe town, it appeared exactly aa if 
the whole place waa in a bright flame. Then at length 
one of them forgot to keep silence, anil the moment 
be uttered an exclamation the treasure sunk ileeper 
and deeper; and as often since aa any attempt has 
be«i made to get it up, the Trolds have, by tbdr 
■peQa and artifices, ^vented its auccen." — Vol. iv. 



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258 SCATH-A-LEGADNB. 

The neighbourhood of Holy Crou tboundi in won- 
den. FTom the Cuhel road the hill of Killou|^ it 
pointed out to the tnTeller u Oardeen a Heria, the 
girden of Ireland, in coniequence of a belief th>t 
it la « national natural botanic eitabliahment, and 
that every plant which grows in Ireland la to be found 
upon it. Not far from Bcath-^-Legkune a imall clear 
stream of .water croaaes the road from a ipring called 
Tvbher-^i'DoTtigh, Doran'a Well ; whoever drinks at 
this fountain it is suppOKd will never feel the wnn- 
tioD of thirst, or a wish for water again. Boi there, 
is really no end to tales of this kind. 



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LINN-NA-PAYSHTHA. 

Travsllbrs go to Leiiuter to see Dublin uul 
Ae Dargle ; to IHster, to see tbe Giant's Cause- 
way, and, perhaps, to do penance at Lough Dearg ; 
to Munster, to see Killftraey, the butter-buying 
aty of Cork, and half a dozen other fine things ; 
hut whoever tiiinks of the fourth province ?— who- 
ever thinks of going — 

" — westward, where Dick Martin raled 
The houseless wilds of Cunnemara?" 

The Ulster-man's ancient denunciation " to 
HeU or to Connaught," has possibly led to the 
supposition that this is a sort of infernal place 
above ground — a kind <^ terrestrial Pandemonium 
—in short, that Connaught is little better than 
hell, or hell little worse than Cbnnaught ; hiit 
let any one only go there for a mosih] and, as 
the natives say, " I il warrant hell soon see the 
differ, and learn to understand that it is mighty 
like the rest o' green Erin,only something poorer ;" 
and yet it might be thought that in this particular 
" worse would be needless ;" but so it ts. 
b2 



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366 LINN-NA'PAysOTBA. 

" My gracious me," said the IftodUdy of the 
Inn at Sl^o, " I wonder a. gentleman of your 
teeit and eunuity would think of leaving Ireland 
without making a lower (tour) of Connaught, if 
it was nothing more than spending a day at Ha- 
zlewood, and up the lake, and on to the ould 
abbey at Friarstown, and the castle at Dromaluuc." 

Folly M'Brjde, my kind hostess, might not in 
this remonstrance have been altogether disint^ 
rested, but her advice prevailed, and the dami 
of the following morning found me in a boat- on 
the unruffled surface of liOU^ Gill. Arrived at 
the heed of that splendid sheet of water, covered 
with rich and wooded islands, with their ruined 
buildings, and bounded by towering mountains, 
noble plantations, grassy slopes, and precipitous 
rocks, which give beauty, and, in some places, 
sublimity to its shores, I proceeded at once up 
the wide river which forms its principal tributaiy. 
The " ould abbey" is chiefly remBrkable for baviag 
been built at a period nearer to the Reformation 
than any other ecdesiastical edifice of the same 
class. Full withia view of it, and at the distance 
of half a mile, stands the tdiattered remnant of 
Brefini's princely haU. I stiode forward with the 
enthusiasm of an antiquaiy, and the. high beating 
heart of a patriotic Inshraan. I felt myself on 
classic ground, immortalised by the lays of Swift 



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UMW-HA-PAXSHTHA, 881 

and of M«cKe. I pivhed my wsy iato tile hal* 
lowol pcedncti'itf die gEsuA md vmwraUe edi* 
fice. I entered it< di^bai, and, oh my eountiT* 
raofi, 1 -fbimd'tiictB conTcrted into the dotnjdk 
bf pigs, com, and poultty ! Bat tibe exterior vt 
^'CBoiwke'a' old hall," grey, frowning, and iry- 
covered, is-well enou^; It stiads on a beeding 
ynt^iee, round ' wUch a noble river wheeb its 
cBUTSe. The opposite bank is a ftry- steep nsceni, 
thickly wooded, and liaing to a he^ht of at Icait 
MTMrtyfeet, land, for «. quarter of a mile, this 
beaatif ul (xipM follows the course of tbs river.' 

Tiie firat.indivjdiial^Iencaunteied was aa old 
wwherd ,- noB wa* I imfortimate in ray Oicenme, 
ftr he astuied me ^ere were pknty. of t^stinwe 
^Klut atsange things that used to be in the place j 
'* tut," omtiniied he, "tar my own - Aai^ I. never 
met any thing worse IMF : myaelf. I£it bees ooU ato- 
riea dudyonr.iiooour's after, thetfmy aboutXinn- 
n^FsfyshthaandPou^mawiGuUyBWB is the only 
tiling ahoiit Aia place.'that Vworthione jaok-straw. 
'Dobs' yooT honoor sceltfaBtsreat faig.bhck fac^ in 
the liveryonder below?" He psfaited.my atten- 
ttbn'to a-poH oEUie imnaixaX &&fjai6a from 
tho (dd: hall, where a long iabnd oooupied ^le 
csntre <tf the Wide ouirmt, the water at one side 
nmning shallow, and at the odier Msnmiiig every 
ai^eiafince of unfathomable dt^Hh. Theqiaclous 



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MS UirK->Mi>PA¥BHTBA. 

fixi, dUrk And itiU, wore a dcBth-Iike qnietude of 
wr&cs. It looked M if the q>eGkled tratu trodfl 
i^un iti maAy preciiicu — aa if erea tlte cbkriog 
|xke would ihrink from so gloomy s dwdbig- 
place. " That 's Linn-na-Payihtha, rir," Mmmed 
my guide, " snd. Pool-m&w-OuIlTawii is juM tbt 
TB17 fflorol of it, only that it 'a rannd, aitd not in k 
river, but standing out in tlie middle of a gnw 
field, about a short quarter oS a mile ttam tl^ 
Well, 'tis as good asfiiuncoTe yearfr— I often ktrd 
my father, God be merd&l to himt telltheiMry 
—lince ManuB O'Rourke, a great bockeen, a coct 
fighting, drinking blackguard diat wie long ago, 
went to sleep one ni^t and had a dream about 
Unn-na-Paysbtha. This Manui, the dirty spal- 
peen, there, was no ho with him;' he tfaoiigbt to 
ride rougb-ahod orer his betters tbiuugh the whole 
country, though he was not one of the real>BtO<A 
of the aitourkes. Wdl, this fellow had a dream 
that if he dived in Xiinn-na-Payditha at twelve 
o'clock of a H<dlow-eve night, he 'd find more gidd 
than would make a man of him mid his wife whik 
grass grew or water ran. The next night he had 
the same dream, and sure enou^ if be bad it tb< 
second night, it caine to him the third in the same 
form. Mftnus, weU beeomea him, aewer t(dd.mBD- 
kind Qr womankind, Imt iwora to himself, by-aU 
the books that ever were shut or open, that any 



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faoWf be 'rroB\d go to the battnti o€ Aa big Iwl^. 
What Anl jie ens for dte Pi^dttka-more tbu wu 
* IjioS t'l^'B tB ^Mp guard on the gold and alyer 
1^1^ ^ wioifat fiunily thst wu buried dten ia 
the WW8, packed up in the brewing-pBn ? Sure 
bt was as gtwd an O'Rourke as the beat of them, 
tAkdug aue to forget that hia grandmoth»'a &i- 
iha mta a cow-bo^ to the eail O'Donnel. At 
]>OQg lort Hollow-eve came, and sly and silent 
"maatar Manua a«eps to bed eail^, and juat at 
ntdni^t Uealg down to the river >ide. When 
hte came to the bank bu mind miagaTe him, fad 
be wheeled i^ to Frank M'Clure'a — the old FitiA 
ihat woi then at that time — and got a bottle of 
.^duakey, and took it with him, and 'tis unknown 
bow mudi (tf it he diank. - He walked acrosa to 
tlm island, and down he went gallantly to the 
iMttom like a stme- Sure Plough the Payshtha 
was there i^ore him, lying like a gieat big conger 
eel, seven yards loi^ and as thick as a bull in the 
bb^, with a mane upon his neck like a horse. 
The Payshtha-more reared himself up, and lotA-^ 
tag at the ponr man as if be 'd eat him, gays hej 
mi good £ngliah, 

" ' Arrah, then, Manus,' says he, ' what broii^t 
yea here f It would have been better for you to 
hare Ubwn your bndns out at once with a {usto!* 



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S6.4 LINN-frA.'^AVftaT^'^ 

and have mtie a qaiet eod.<< younelf^ than to 
faaTO comedown hue for neU de^ witb yov-' 

" ' Oh, piate youi lumiNir/ anyt Maaus, ' 1 
beg my life :' and dtete lie stood ^lalcing like n 
iog in a .wet sack. 

" ' Well, SB you have Bome blood of the 
O'Rodrkes in jou, I foigive yoa this once ; but 
by thiSj'Bnd by thati >f ever I tee jou, or any one 
brionging to yon, coning about this pUGe;agshi, 
1 11 hang a quarter 4^* you on ereiy tree in the 
wood.' 

" < Go faatae,' says tbeP^ibtha — ' go borne, 
Haaus,' says he j ' and if you can't make better 
tne of your time, got drunk, but dcm't come here, 
bolhsiing me. Ye^ sioffl BJnce you are here, 
and have ventured to come, I 'U show you some- 
thing that you 11 ronembef till ywi go to- yeur 
grave, and ever aAei^ lASe you live.' 

" With that, my dear, htm^aia -an inm door in 
llie bed of the rin^ and never the dn^ of watn mn 
into it ; and there Manas sees a long dry cave, or 
uader^giDUBd cellar like, and the Par^gbtba drags 
him in, and ihuts the door. Ibwam't loog befbst 
the batle began to get smaller, and smaller, and 
■mailer; and at last he grew as little aaataa^ 
of twd.Teyeanold; and there he was, a Imnniish 
little man, about four teat bi^" 



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""' Piiae jota -honour/ wyg MaotiB, * if I 
migfit m^ BO bcdd,' majrbe you are one c€ the 
good people ?' 

" • Majbe I am, and maybe I am not ; but, 
anyhow, all you have to understand is this, that 
I 'm bound to look ^fter the Thiemas * <^ Brefihi, 
and take care of theni through every generation ; 
and that nty present business Is to watch this care, 
and what's in it, till the old stock iareigaingover 
this country onc« more.' 

" ' Maylte you are a sort of a banshee ?' 

" ' I am ia«, you fool,' said the little man. 
' The banshee is a woman. My business is to 
live in the form you first saw me in, guarding 
this'^iot. And now hold your tongue, and look 
■ftboot you.' 

" Maous rubbed his eyeii, and looked right and 
kft, hefore and behind ; and there was the vessels 
ci gold and the vessels of silver, the dishes, and 
the plRteSf'uid the cups, and the punch-bowls, 
and the tankards : th^« was the gidden mether, 
too, tfiBt every Thiema at his wedding used to 
drink out of to the kerne in real usquebaugh. 
There was aU the money that «ver was saved in 
the famQj since they got a grant of this manor, 
in the days of the Firbolgs, down to the time of 

• Or Tighearm—i lord. Vide O'Bbien. 



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e6B LtKM'-«A.»AVga¥tfA. 

AUt omUr miMd&n. H« then broo^t 'Manus 
on with hhn to where there was tana tor thvM 
hundred men ; and the sword Bet With diamdnda, 
*&d the gotden helmet of the O'Roui^e j «i«l he 
Showed him the staff made out of an elephant's 
tooth, and set with rubies and gold, that ^tit 
Thierna used to hold while he sat in his great haB, 
giving justice and the laws of the Brehmia tb iil 
his clan. The first room in the cave, ye seie, had 
the money and the plate^^he second room had-tbe 
arms, and the third had the hooks, papers; •pxtA- 
ments, title-deeds, wills, and every thing else i4 
the sort belonging to the family. 

" ' And now, Manus,' says the little man, ' jt 
seen the whole o* this, and go yoot wajrs; hilt 
never come to this place any more, or allow any 
one else. I must keep watch and ward till the 
Sassanach is dmv out (^ Ireland, and the Thiemas 
o'Brefini in their glory again.' The little man then 
stopped for a while and looked up in Manus' ^ce, 
and says to him in a great passion, ' Airah 1 bad 
luck to ye, Manus, why don't ye go abaut yaw 
business ^' 

■' ' How can 1 7— sure you must show me the 
way out,' says Manus, makii^ answer. The little 
man then pointed forward with his finger. 

" ' Can't we go out the way we came ?" says 
Manus. 



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- -" 'Noj yea rmut go out at the otbec end— 
tbat 's tbe rule o' this place. Ye come in at 
IdBii^iu-p&7>hthB, and je miut go out at FouK 
laaw-gulljBWD : ye came down like a atone to 
the bottom of one hole, and je mutt spring up 
like a cork to the top of the other.' With that 
the little maa gave him one hoite, and all that 
Uanug rememb^fl was the roar of the water in 
}v»e»n ; and nue enough he was found the next 
iBQniiqg, high and dry, last asleep, with the 
emftf bottle beiide hhn, but far enough from the 
l^aoe he thought be landed, for it was just below 
yonder on tbe island that bis wife found him. 
Vfy father, God be merciful to him ! beard Manua 
■wear to every word of the story." 



The Bymbolising genius of antiquity devised dif- 
ferent allegorical beings as the guardians of what wo* 
hallowed and secret In Egypt the Sphynges, placed 
in rows, lined the approach to the temples of the gods, 
and many critics regard tbe cherubim of the Hebrews 
in the ume %ht. But no creature enjoyed a considera- 
tion so extended as the dragon, which, throughout 
the East and Europe, has at every period been re- 
gardedas thesentineloverbiddentreasures. Adragon 
watched the golden apples of the Hesperides ; a dmgon 



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x68 LlNN^A-PATSnTHA. 

leptMei on the buried gold of Scaodimtis mnS Oer- 
tamj ; utd the PayBhtha-more or great worm, ill Ire- 
land, protwt* tbe wealth of (fRmiAe. Of w wide- 
qtread & beUef, perhapa the following is the tme 
origin. 

" Couv&v oil pBuIestya est le dieu des richessei el 
dea tr^rs caches, I'anii des MUteminB et des esprila 
qni J r^udent, le protecteur descafemea et dee grottes, 
le Toi des rois. II habite la region du noid. Ut, dans 
Alaka, se demeure ordhiaiK, au centre d'unc fpaine 
forft, il eat enrironnfi d'uneeonr'hrillante de genieB 
a^d^s Kinnaru et Y^cfau: oea denieDi ont H 
duo^ do doOMr on de Tetiier, na mort^, les bieu 
mr lesqnela ils Tiellent incesBommEnt. Qaek|uefotale 
dieu leu sonrerain ae lient dana une gratte pcofesde 
ganl£e par des aerpena, et d^fendue, en outre, par I'eau 
et par le feu ; alors on, et reroarquable par t'^ormit^ 
de son Tentre, il veille lui-meme anr see trfsora eou- 
tenains." Creuzer, Religions de 1' Antiquity, tradnc- 
tion de Gnigniaut. Paris, ISSfl, t. i. p. 848. 

On which the traodator giv«s the following note : 
" L'habitatioa de Cou*^, au do^, dasa lea montmnei 
qui donneot I'or et les pwrreria, eat remarqnable ; en 
viHt auaai I'origine de iwtte opiaienf -si anaienne «t ai 
r^pandae, qui fait farder par des niomtPH et des 
etpita Jea bcAtan uch^ an sein de la terre." 

Mt. Owen (son of Dr. Owen Pq^ie) baa landl; 
communicated to the compilta' of this volume the fol- 
lowing particulara i«speetiiig aome treasure, which 
Btill lies ccmcealed in Nwth Wales, and of the effing 



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saaHe Dtnl nukii^ to recovei: it. Mi^ Owen's letter is 
lUteil Nsiitfilyn, May lo, lij3T. 

"Some.shorl lime ago," he nritcB, " 1 was applied 
to by. a- man, with » view of aseettaining if I could 
afibrd hira any astlstance in hie nreroniaiitic pursuit!. 
Hi Uitoaaed me be liad mule coasiderable piogiess. 
in the rudiments, antl tvae able, to cause noiaea-to itii- 
turb. tba teat of any abnosiout pereon who had dis- 
pleased him, ,and to aacetlain the pucloiners of lost 
articIcB^inost to infallibility; that hi«practicB in that 
way was already pietty cooMdemble, and he expected 
to enjoy a fair portioQ. of busisesB. In truth, he 
evinced great expertneM in. caUiag natiritiea, and aU 
the horological and aatrMomical niceties which dis- 
tinguish the profound seienoe of astrology. 

" This application, he observed, was more particu- 
larly instigated from the information which hie master 
in thescieace had given hira of a great treasure, which 
he had unsiiccessftilly attempted to obtain. Some 
forty years before, when the na4.ural enthuHissia of 
jievith>aiid yain confidence in hie necromantic acquire- 
laentB, had induced him to explore the arcaiia of bo-. 
ture,.be had rashly undertaken an adventure which 
DO peretM had accomplished. In a bordning parish, 
(radilion {ar lavar gwla, or the voice of the country) 
asserts the existence of a chest filled with gold. So 
great a priie he thought deserved tbe mort strenuous 
eSbrts. and he prepared for the undertaking with the 
most earnest solicitude. 
, " Fortified with all that science of resdution could 



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8Tff LIWH-KA-PlTShfltA. 

fianiMi, he went to the <U*ttlct, lud it wu not long 
bef<R«hu art ducorned the unobtruaive Bpot of (he 
gnomic ilqMMit. He found the entruice of a cav»— 
with breathleu expectation he explored Ita Intricadet, 
and at last ani>ed at iti innennost reona : there be 
percnved a mighty chest, hut some mjsterious id- 
enbai brooded over the prize. Amid a mas* of fbrm- 
kM iniat he disoovend what were evidently talons of 
a moat CMrfal magnitude, well suited to score the hide 
' of the hqilesa wight whose spell might not he auf- 
fldently potent to lull the viplanoe of this modem 
Atgus; a beak of awful curve, and two lurid eyes, 
whose basilisk influence unnerved all his powers. He 
thought he perceived it unfold its wingi ; dread pre- 
paratory of an sttack ; and finding no time was to be 
loat, he famUed for the spell which was to render thia 
•{^■ailing menace impotent. Hefaundhehodseardwd' 
in the wrong pocket, and nervous trepidation ineap*< 
dtated htm from a proper use of his Acuities; his 
tongue refused to perform its office ; snd in thia and 
dilemma the impatient fiend pounced upon him. Be 
felt its chilling grasp — snd, stretched wnselesa, he saw 
no more. When the blood sgain animated his fiame, 
be found himself laid upon the green iword, and every 
joint Tscked with the most excruciating torments. 
< In this state,' he obaerved to bis pupil, ' 1 have 
remained ever since; my hmba have never recoveted 
their proper tone. I could have exemplified to yon 
the manner in which I must hdve been treated if 
I had fortunately preserved the clothes I wore at 



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the time : you would have, jo^ed sonw nnlieieuft- 
plough-boy h'ad drawn his harrowi over me dorii^ • 
ra^ Bwoon. The acratches on my body in luch a 
l«pseof time haveofeouTse healed, but theirmarki re- 
main.' 'My opinion is,' remarked the diadple, 'that 
he ought not to have undertaken the task alone ; and 
although, when the gold la coDBdered, I woukl en- 
counter the acratcb of a demon with tbe talons of a 
condor, yet, aa it happened to him, a man may, after 
groping bis way through those devious receaaea, and 
Doming suddenly, perhaps, in view of the tteaiure and 
ita guardian, loae his presence of mind and use the 
wrong incantation. Now I intend, if you, air, will 
write the spell very large and plain, so that this imp 
can have no pretence to disregard it, to insert it in tbe 
deft of a stick as long aa a flsbing-rod, and taking 
care to keep it in advance, I will hold it right under 
his nose, and then we shall see !' " 

Mr. Owen adds that tbe old professor is still alive, - 
and resides on the banks of the Conwy. 

Linn na Payehcha signifies the Pool of the Worm, 
The latter word is correctly written BtUtin, tbe 
diminutive of biait or jnatd, a little beast, which is 
used for any worm or insect The application of 
the term worm to the serpent tribe is very general; 
indeed the umilarity of form naturally led to it. 
Any one acquainted with the legends of the nortli 
must be familiar with Lind-orms, and in those of Ger- 
many the Lind-wurm is no unfrequent actor. Dante 
calls Satan " 11 gran Verme;" Milton's ^iam re- 



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278 UMM-NA-FATaHTHA. 

proadte* Ere wilh having knt an ear ■' to that Mte 
worm ;" and Sbalcipeere Bays, that aUnder's tongut 
" outvenettiaBUtbq warns of N0«.'^ ( ( / ^" 

The acene of Dean Swift't well buowm verses of 
" (yRimtke's noble feaat" was the oM hall of Dronu- 
hail. The; were tnndlLtad fr«m the fcialt cfJIugti 
MaoGowran of Glengoole in the county. of L^ItIa, 
who was « contemporary. The oripnai begioB thus: 
" Plp*ft4c* 17A Kv*iicAC * ccsrirw >!le drije." 
" The Revel-rout of ihi O'Rourkes is in the-TBemory 
of all men." 



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FAIRY LEGENDS. 

EOCKS AND STONES. 



xtama'd. 



Somedmes thtj railed off doudil;, 
Wedding Ihcmulire* with gloom— m grew 
Gigantic to my troubled view. 
And Kcmed to gslliei round me." 

Bamim's Celt's Paradisi;. 



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ROCKS AND STONES. 



THE LEGEND OP CAIRK THIERNA. 

Fhmi the town of Fennof , famous for the ex- 
cellmce of its bottkd ale, jrou toay plainly lee the 
mouvtain of Gaim Thienm. It is crowned l^ t 
peat heap of atonei, whichj as the country people 
reraack, never came there without " a crooked 
thought and a crou job." Strange it is, that any 
work of the good old times should be considered 
one of labour ; for round towers then sprung up 
like mushrooms in one night, and people played 
maiUes with pieces of rock, that can now ao more 
be moved than the hills themselves. 

This great pile on the top of Cairn Thiema was 
caused by the words of an old woman, whose bed 
still remains — Labacalli/, the hag's bed — not far 
&om the village of Glanwortb. She was certainly 
&r wiser than any woman, either old or young, 
itf my immediate acquaintance. Jove defend me, 
however, from making an envious comparison be^, 
tween ladies; but facts afe stubborn things, and 
the legend will prove my assertion. 

t2 



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276 TBE LEOBKD OF CAI&M Tfi[IBENA. 

(yKeefe ms Imd of FennoT befcne tbe Bwhei 
came into that part of the country ; and. he had 
an only ton — never wai ihere leen a finer child : 
his young tace filled with innocent joy was enou^ 
to nuke aaj heart glad, yet his father looked on 
his smiles with sorrow, for an old hag had foietold 
that this boy should be drowned before he grew op 
to manhood. 

Now, although the propheciea of Pastorini were 
a failure, it is no reason why prophecies should 
altogether be despised. The art in modem time* 
may be lost, as weU as that of making beer out of 
the mountain heath, which the Danes did to great 
perfection. Butltakeit,themalt of Tom Walker 
is no bod substitute for the one ; and if evil pro- 
phecies were to come to pass, like the old womftn'i, 
in my opinion we are far more comfortable with- 
out such knowledge. 

" Infant heir of proud Fennoy, 
Fear not fields of slaughtar ; 
Steam nor fire fear not, my boy, 
But shun the fatal water." 

These were the warning words which caused the 
diief of Fermoyaomucb unhappiness. Hisin&nt 
■on was carefully prevented all approach to the 
ritfer, and anxiouB watch was kept over everyplay- 
ftil movement. - The child grew up in >trengtlL#n^ 



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■Mil CEClE^b 07 CAlRN TlitERNA. S77 

fn t>eEtUti'; and ever; day became more dear to liis 
f^the^, who hoping to avert the doom, which how- 
ever was Inevitable, prepared to build a castle &r 
retnoved from the dreaded element. 

The top of Cairn Thiema was the place choien ; 
and the lord's vosBsIa were assembled, and employed 
in collecting materials for the purpose. Hither - 
came the fated boj ; with delight he viewed the 
laborious work of raising mighty Stones from the 
base to the summit of the mountain until the vast 
heap which now forms its nigged crest was accu- 
mulated. . The workmen were about to commence 
the building, and the boy, who was considered in 
safety when on the mountain, was allowed to rove 
about at will. In his case how true are the words 
of the great dramatist : 

— " Put but a little water in a spoon, 
And it shall he, as all the ocean. 
Enough to stifle such a being up." 

A vessel which contained a small supjdy of water, 
brought there for the use of the wortmen, attracted 
the attention of the child. He saw, with wonder, 
the glitter of .the sunbeams within it; he ap- 
proached more near, to gaze, when a form resem- 
bling his own arose before him, He gave a cry of 
joy and astonishment, and drew back ; . the image 
drew back also,'- and vanished. Again he ap- 



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278 tat LBOEMO 01 CAIBH TttlEBHA. 

pTDOched; ^^ the fotmdppearedisq^MSiiof fal 
every future delight corresponding ^th his o«>n. 
Eager to welcome the young sfrang^, he bent 
over the vessel to press his lips, and lodag his 
balance, the fatal prophecy vras aceomplished. 

The &tber in despair abandoned the commenced 
buil£ng; and the materialareaminaiffoofof tb« 
folly of attempting to avert the course of &te. 



The writer hopea no reader will be nneharhaMe 
enongb to suspect Urn of viihing to incaleste a belief 
in predestinMioB : be only M)aw« his brief. But the 
tratb is, the hnnnni mind, m may be observed in the 
vulgar of every country, has, doubtless owing to its 
wesknera, a strong bias to believe in this doctrine. 
The tragic mnse of Greece ddighted to pourtray the 
unavailing Btragglesofftien "bound it) theadanranline 
chain" of destiny; and theefihAonoornrinda, though 
bumbling, is not dispiriting. Over the East fate it 
donuoant : it not only enters into the serious occupa- 
tions of life, but extends its empire throogh thereahna 
of fiction ; and the reader, were he not now to be sup- 
posed fiimiliai with such coincidences, might perhapa 
be surprised at the sinrilarity between this legend t^ 
the Irisfa peasant and the exqaialte t^ of Prince 
A^b, in tbe Thouaand and One Nights. 

Cairn Thiema is tbe aoene of a anbaeqaent tale ia 



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THB LEOEND OF CAIBN THISKKA. ST0 

lUiwotigii; utditonlyippemuecenu; teadd that 
the Cork »d Dutdln mail coach rotd mui under it. 
or the Hag*! bed, a plate, though not a particularlj 
cnrect or picturesque representation, ii gjven in the 
■econd Tolume of Dr. Smith's Hiatorjr of Cork. The 
Irish name (of this huge' bbct of stnu npported 
by Btnaller itonea) ii correctly -written Zitaha Coil' 
leach. Of the hag it may be said, as has been wittily 
remarked of 

" St. Kflveo, 

If hard lyiig could gain it, h«. ntrely gfuuad heaven ; 
For on rock lay hia Umb, and rock pillatBed hia hetA, 
Whsnerer this good holy saint kept his bed; 
And keep it he moat, even to hia laat day. 
Far I 'm ame he could nerer have thrown it sway." 

" Bi aairt a chea»m*iMairf'-^t slons bobtet— if 
the usual account given of tl^ ael&moctifisMion of 
Irish saints, while the hagp, theiT predecesMns in the 
island on which their piety has bestowed celebrity, 
seemed to prefer an entire couch of the same materiah 
These dames, however, possessed the power of pitdi- 
ihg their pillows after any one at whom they were di»* 
pleased. What is aomewhat remarkable, the Finnii, . 
who were centempoisriea wlA the Hagr, weM rather 
Inxnrioas in their mt, (br tradltleB' rrfatCK Am 
" Barm^uU ertam, aummteh, ag%t* iir'hmchair" 
Bnnehee of treesj moss; and green rashes, formed 
their bed*. 



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THE BOCK OF THE CANDLE. ■ 

A FEW miles west of Limerick Btwida the aoet 
foimidable castle of Carrigt^nnel. Iti riven tomr ' 
and birolen archwajr remain in moumfol evidtnee 
of the si^es BUitained by tbat city. Time, htlw- : 
ever, the great aoother of all things, haa destxojMl 
the painAil effect which the view of recent Tiolanoe 
produces on the mind. The ivy creeps around the 
riven tower, cont^aling its injuiieB, and uphtdding 
it hya tough swathing <tf italki. The vrdnnifJt 
again united by the long-armed briar whidi gtDwfe< 
acrosi the rent, and the shattered buttrwsei us 
decorated with wild flowers, which gaily Bpring - 
from their crevices and broken places. 

Boldly situated on a rock, the ruined walls of 
Canigogimnel now fimn only a romantic featUK 
in the peaeefiil hmdscape. Beneath them,aaoae ' 
side, lies the flat nunby ground called Corkaia kad) 
which borders the noble river Shannon ; oo tJw 
other side is seen the neat parish church of Efi>, 
keedy, with its glebe-house and surrounding im,- 
provemeats ; and at a short distance srpesr the 



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THE SOCK or TBB CANDLE. 281 

irregular mudcabiiis of the little viUage of Ballj- 
te)wn, with the Tenerable trees of Tervoo. 

On the rock of Carrigogunnel, before castle waa 
builtj or Brien Bora bom to build it, dwelt a hag 
named Grana, who made desolate the surrounding 
country. She was gigantic in lizej and frightful 
in' appearance. Her eyebrows grew into each 
otkermitli a grim curve, and beneath their matted 
briMiH^ def^y sunk in her head, two small grey 
eyeaidizted forth baneful looks itfevil. Fnmih^ 
de^^. wrinkled forehead issued forth a hooked 
boikj^vidiiig two shrivelled cheeks. Her skinny 
ljp» muled with a cruel and malignant expressioD, 
and her prominent chin was studded with bunches 
of .gniscly hair. 

d>eathwBS her sport. Like the angler with his 
rod, the hag Onma would toQ and watch, nor 
think it labour, so that the death of a victim re- 
worded her vigils. Every evening did she light 
an enchanted candle upon the rock, and whoever 
looked upon it, died before the next meaning's sun 
aroBS. Numberless were the victims over which 
Gisiia rejoiced ; one afW the other had seen the 
light, and their death was the consequence. Hence 
came the country around to be desolate, and Car- 
rigc^jnniiel, the fiock of the Candle, by its dreaded 

.T&eie:«t«'e £«Brf(il limes to live in. But Ae 



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Fititiil of Krin we the avgngro rf tha of ptigWBt 
Their date had gons fbsth to distant ghorat, and 
tl>tii dwiln wen nuts by an hmdred bsids. To 
diem the name of daagra waa aa am invitotiaB 
to a rich banquet. The mb of endHKOtnwBt 
ftopped their conne aa little aa the iworda of an 
enemj. Many a mother of a aoa — ntoajr a wife 
of a hniband — many a aister of a brother had the 
valour of the Finnian hecoet bereft. Sianiem- 
bered limba qniTcred, and beads bounded on the 
gtonnd befine their pn^en in hatt^ Tbof 
ToibtA forward with the Mtength of the furieai 
wind, tearing up the tree* of the fineit bjr that 
Toott. Loud waa theii war-cry as the thaadm, 
raging waa their impetuosity above that of em- 
monmen,and fiereewai their anger as the acoBBy 
waves of the ocean I 

It was the mighty Finn himself iriM lifted: 19 
his Toice^ xnA commanded the fatal '^f^Ti i ll^* of tT*T 
hag Oraoa to bo extii^uiihed. " Thnia, H^a^ 
be the task," he said, and to him hs gave a tmp 
thrice charmed by the "lagiHaa Zaina of LocUi&. 

With the itar of the same evening the candle 
of death burned on the rock, and Began Mood 
beneath it Had he belield the slightest f^imnei 
of its blaxe, he, too, would have perished, and the 
hag Orana, with the morning'g dawn, rejoiced ovei 
hiseocae. When. Began looked towMda.tl>eli^t, 



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XBB KOCE Wr THE. OMMJOM Mt 

dri Gfaansed cap iUl over hit c^es and preTeBtet 
Us aeelng. The roek waa stoqij Init he riwihefl 
iqi it! cn^y tide with bb(^ caotion and das* 
tarity, that, befine the hag was awaie, the war- 
rior, with averted head, had aeiaed the candla, 
and flung it with prodigious foice into the livec 
Shumon ; the hining waters of whit^ quenched 
hi light for ever I 

Then flew the diarmad np ham the ^ea of 
Bc^SD, and he b^teld the entaged hag with oa^ 
ttvetched anns, prepared to leiae and whirl him 
after her candle. Regan instantly hounded weai* 
ward from the rock just two nules, with a wild 
and wonderoiu spring. Oraaa looked for a mo- 
ment at the latf, and then tearing up a huge frag- 
ment of the lockf flung it aftex Regan widk inch 
tremendous force, that her erooked hands trembled 
and her broad chest haaredwith heavy pnffi, like 
a<BmiA's labouriiig bellows, frran the exertMm. . 

The ponderous stone fell hennlesi to the groond, 
for tlie leap of Regan far exceeded the strength 
df the furious hag. In triumph he returned to 
Finn; 

" The hero valiant, renowned, and learned ; 
White-tootb'd, graceful, magnanimous, and ac- 
tire *." 



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2H THS kacrov rax cAKDUi: 

The bag Gnum wu nevR Iward df moR ; tut 

the Mtme remaina, and, deeply imprinted in it, U 
■tffl to be seen tbe fnail ctf the hit^s fingers- 
That stone it for taller than the tallest man, and 
the power of for^ men would fail to move it 
from the spot where it fell. 

The grass may wither around it, the qade and, 
plough destroy dull heaps of earth, the waUs of 
castles fall and perish, but the fame c^ the Finnii 
of Erin endures with the rocks themselves, and 
Clottgh-a-Regaun is a monument fitting to pre- 
serve the memory of the deed ! 



The Finnii are, in Ireland, what the race who fought 
at Thebes and Troy were in Greece ; Signid and his 
companione In Scandinavia ; Dietrich and his warriors 
in Germany ; Arthur and his kn^hts in Britain ; and 
Charlemagne and the Paladins in Prance ; that is, my- 
thic heroes, conceived to have far exceeded in strength 
and prowess the puny beings who now occupy their 
place. Their deeds were confined to no one part of 
the island, for hills, rocks, and stones in each pro- 
vince BCill testify their superhuman might, and many 
an extant poem and many a traditionary tale record 
thdr exploits. The preceding is one of the latter, m 
which the writer has ventured to retain much of the 
idiomatic pecaliaritin of the Irish originaL 



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THJt. MOK or THB- CAXDLE. MS 

. It^sa'« )e^f isd the hag's stcna-cut wUl find mu 
nwroiu panU^ in the legends of other eonntnes. In 
Qennm tradition, ■ joaog giAntCM nukes • gTUi4 
clearance of a wide Tslle;; snd pitching rocks across 
an armof the sea, byway of trjing each other's might, 
was a common amusement of the northern giants. 

An hnmonma Friend writes thus of a large atooe near 
Dnblin, after describing the Torions ohjecU which an- 
tiquuies bsil ase^ned for its nse. 

- " Or kft by the giants of old who play'd qooits - 
Whtn their game they forsook to attack the potatu. 
Potaiei ! sure the root was not then in its glory. 
No matter — 'tis true as of giants the flory !" 



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CLOUGH NA CUDDY. 

Abovb all the islands in the lakes (£Ki]]aroef 
give me Inniifallen — " sweet Innis&llen," as die 
mekidious Mmve ealla it. It is, ia truth, m t^cy 
isle, ahhough I have no iaiiy itary to tell yoa 
about it ; and if I bad, these are nidi unbetiertDg 
times, and people of late hare grown so sceptkAl, 
that thej onlf smile at my stories, and doubt 
them. 

Howerer, none will doubt that a monasterj 
once stood upon Innisfallen island, for its ruini 
nutjr still be seen ; neither, that within its walls 
dwelt certain pious and learned persons called 
Monks. A very pleasant set of fellows they veK, 
I make not the smallest doubt ; and 1 am sure a[ 
this, that they had a reiy pleasant spot to eajaj 
themselves in after dinner — the proper time, be^ 
lieve me, and I am no bad judge of such matters, 
for the enjoyment of a fine prospect. 

Out of all the monks you could not pick a bet- 
ter fellow nor a merrier soul than father Cuddy : 
he sung a good song, he told a good story, and 

t 

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CLOUQH SA CUSDT. 867 

torn, that wai a oiBdtt to saiy refectory taU^ 
He was dlstinguidied above all the reit by the 
name of " the &t &thei ." Now there are many 
that will take huff at a.name ; hut father Cuddy 
had BO nonsetise of ^at kind ahont tiim ; ha 
laughed at it — asdwell aUehe was to laugh, ibr 
his ^uni^ neariy leached £rom.me ear to the other : 
hds night, in truth, be caUed an open countenanee. 
As his panneh wu aa disgntce lo his find, neither 
waa his nose to his drink. 'Tia a doubt to me.if 
tiaere were not more carbuncles upon it than art* 
were seen.at the bottom of the lake, which is said 
to be full of them. His ^es had a right merry 
twinkle in themj like moonBhine dancing on the 
water ; and his cheeks had the roundness and 
Ctimson glow of ripe arbutus berries. 

" He eat, and drank, and prayed, and slept. — 

What then ? 
He eat, and drank, and prayed, and slept again !" 

Such was the tenor of hig ahnple life : but ^en 
he prayed, a c^tain drowsiness would come upcnt 
him, which, it must be coo&ssed, never occurred 
when a well-filled " black- Jack" stood before him. 
Hence his prayers were short and his draughts 
were long. The world loved him, and he saw no 
good rewon why be ikoM not in return love ita 



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ate OLMMM X4' CVABT> 

yaaiaantBAiU^a^ea^baaf^- But, tm^ah'watt, 
be mntt hare been a pious onn, w dn what MB 
Um never would have happoied. 

-^]dntual affitin — ^for it wu respeeting the te- 
|KnMtioii of tt tun of wine tnto tlie iiland nona- 
wUrj — demanded tlie preaence a[ one of the fato- 
theriiood of Inniafallea at the abbey of Irela^, 
now called Muctuh. The saperintendence of thb 
Important matter was committed to &ther Codt^, 
who Mt too deeply interested in the fiitnie wel- 
fan (rf any community irf' which he was ameto- 
her, to neglect or delay such miiaion. Wldi't^ 
Roniing's li^t he was seen guiding his ahdlAp 
acnM the dimson watcsa of the lake towards tte 
peninsula of Mucruss ; and having moored hii 
little bark in safety beneath the shelter of a wa*e- 
worn rod, he advanced with beogming d^ni^ 
towards the abbey. 

The stillness of the briglit and bobny bour wai 
tRoken by the heavy footsteps of the zealous &- 
ther. At the sound the startled deer, shaking the 
dew from their sides, sprung up &Dm thar li^, 
and as they bounded off — " Hah !" ecdtilMd 
Cuddy, " what a noble haunch goes there ! — ium 
delicious it would look smoking upon a goodly 
platter!" 

As be proceeded, the mountain bee huDuaM 
Us tune of g ladness anwsd the hoLy matt,- save 



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«A««ir»A'W«Dy. -Sib 

,j|hW(lWBB*w lite for^^s- ball, te< nvdUng 
i!Wn<A:£^*0t«4k buwh of thyiM j nieMitiWi 
the little voice lawmuied oat ha p pi uM i in low 
.^ Irokeatamss t^' Yolaptooug delimit. Father 
.Gw^7 derived nounall comfort irom the aonnd, 
f(iK it preetigad a good methe^n aeatoa, nad ■■•• 
tbe^Ua be i^aidedj if wall maniifitrtiired, to be 
ifo- Iwd liquor, paitieululy when Hiere was ao 
aUtA of u^sebei^th in (he tn^wing. 
. Ab«f^ within the aU>ey garth, he was t»- 
onv^with due respect I7 the brei^Rn of Ireli^, 
9/^ anxtageaieiits for the embarkation of the wine 
wtte ooi&^eted to his entire satisfaction. " WA- 
feme, iathM Cuddy," said the prior : " grace he 
on you." 

" Grace before meat, tben," said Cuddy, " for 
a l(Wg walk always makes me hungry, and I am 
certain I have not walked less than half a mile 
thjfl oKoning, to say nothing of crossipg the water." 

A pasty of choice flavour felt the truth of this 
aiBertion, as regarded father Cuddy's appetite. 
AXt&! such constding repast, it would have been a 
reiBkdtiw on monastic hospitality to dc^«it widi- 
QUt 'partaking of the grace-cup ; moreover, &ther 
Cuddy had: a particular respect for the antiqaity 
of that custom. He liked the taste of the grace- 
cup well ;— he tri«d another, — it was na less ex- 

fAKT II. V ' 



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390 CLOU6H NA CUDDY. 

cellent; and when he had swalloved the thiid 
he found hii heart expand, and put forth its fihres, 
nilling to embrace all mankind. Surel;, then, 
there is christian lore and charity in wine ! 

I said he sung a gcxid song. Now though pialiiu 
are good longs, and in accordance with hia vocft' 
tion, I did not mean to implj that he was a mere 
pSftbn-aingei. It was well known to the brethren, 
that wherever lather Cuddy was, mirth and me- 
lody were with him ; — mirth in his eye, and me- 
lody on his tongue ; and these, froia experiatoe, 
are equally well known to be thinty commodities; 
but he took good care never to let them run diy. 
To please the brotherhood, whose excellent wine 
pleased him, be sung, and as " in vino Veritas," 
his song will well become this veritable history. 

" Quam pulcbia sunt ova 

Cum alba et nova 
In stabulo scite leguntur; 

Et a Margery bella, 

QuK festiva puells ! 
Pinguis lardi cum frnstis coquuntur. 

" Ut belles in prato 
Aprico et lato 
Sub sole tarn leete renident 



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CtOtrfiH »A CCBDr. 2St 

Ova tosta in meiua, 

Mappa bene extensa 

Nitidissima lance conBident *." 

Such was his song. Ftttber Cuddr smacked liia 
Gps at the recollection of MargeiyB delidous fried 
eggs, which alwajv imparted a peculiar relish to 
his liquor. The very idea proToked Cuddy t« 
rnise the cup to his mouth, and with one hearty 
puU thereat he finished its contents. 

This is, and ever was, a censorious world, often 
construing what is only a fair allowance into an 
excess ; hut I scorn to reckon up any man's drink, 
like an unrelenting host, therefore I cannot tell 
how many brimming draughts of wine, bedecked 
with the venerable Bead, father Cuddy emptied 

• O 'lb tggt an B ireal 

Wlioi 10 white ud so twttl 
From uodei the manger they 'le token, 

And fay fkit Mu^ery, 

Ocht 'tUihe'sfiUIofglee, 
They att diei with fat raihen of bacon. 

Just lilu daind aU qiread 

O'er a. broad sunny mead 
In the «unbe>nu to beauieomly shining. 

Ate tried eggs, well diqilny'd 

On a dish, when we 've laid 
The doth, and are thinkiog of dlnhig^ , 

c2 



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29S CLOUGH NA CUDDY. 

into his " soul'Case," n hciigunittTely termed the 
body. 

His recpect for the goodly company of the monks 
of Irela^^ detained him until their acyoumment 
to Terpen, when he let forward on hii letum to 
Innis&Uen. Whether hla mind wu occupied in 
philoao^ic oontemplntion or wnpped In pious 
miuings, I cannot declare, but Uie honen fothec 
wandered on in a difi^ent direction Izom that io 
which his shEdlop lay. Far be it from me to in- 
sinuate that the good liqutfr which he had so 
commended caused him to fbi^et his road, or that 
his track was irrE^pilar and unsteady. Oh nol— 
he carried bis drink bravely, as became a decent 
man and a good christian; yet, somehow, he 
thought he could distinguish two iooddb. " Bless 
my eyes," said father Cuddy, " every thing is 
changing now-a-dsys ! — the veuj stars are not in 
the same places they used to be ; I think Cam- 
ceachta (the Plough) is driring im at a rate I 
never saw it before to-night ; hut I suppose the 
driver is drank, for there are blackgoards every 
■ where." 

Cuddy tad scarcely uttered thf«e words, when 
he saw, or fancied he saw, the form of a young 
woman, who, holding up a bottle, beckoned him 
towards her. The night was extremely beautiful. 



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CLOUQH NA CUDDY. 29S 

and the wliite tiross of dte girl floBted gracefully 
in Hk moonlight as with ge,y step she tripped on 
bofora the wcffth; &ther, at^y looking b&ck 
upon him orer her shoulder. 

" Ah, Margery, merry Margeiy !" eried Cuddy, 
" you tempting Itttle rogue 1 

' El a Margery betta, 
Qvajettiva puella /* 

I see you, I see you ^nd the bottk ! let me but 
catct youj Margery bella J" and on he followed, 
panting and smiling, after thlp alluring q^Mi^tion. 

At length his feet grew weary, and his bicBtb 
&iled, which obliged him to give up tbe chase ; 
yet Bupb was his piot? tbat, unwil^ng to icst in 
any attitude but titat t^pra^E, dewa dropped fa- 
ther Cuddy <m Us ineeg. Sle^ «s usual, stcde. 
upon his devotions, wi «be mwoii^ was &r ad- 
vanced when he awdie tram dseuts, in whidi 
tables groaned beneaA their iaad «f viands, and 
wine poured itself firoe aad fparUuig « the moi»- 
tain firing. 

Bubbing his eyes, he Ixikei shout hhn, and 
the mere he looked tihe nore he wondered at the 
alteration which appeared in the face of die count 
try. '' Bless my soul and body I" said the good 
£^lieT, " I saw the stan ch&ngi^ last night, but 
&we is a change ]" Doubting his senseii he looked 



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aw CLOUGH NA Clf»DY- 

flgain. The hill* bwe the same maJCBtk tniiMHe^ 
M on the preceding Aay, and the bike spuead it- 
self beneodi his view in the same tranqail beant^, 
and studded with the same number of Idands ; bat 
eveT7 smaller feature in the landscape was ttiBngdy 
altered. What had been naked rocks, were now 
clothed with hoUy and arbutus. Whole woods bad 
disappeared, and waste places had become culti- 
vated fields ; and, to complete the work of en- 
chantment, the veiy season itself seemed changed^ 
In the ro>f dawn <^ a summer's morning he had 
left the monastery of Innisfallen, and he now fdt 
in ereiy si^t and sound the drearinesB of winter. 
The hard ground was covered with wi^ered 
leaves ; icicles depended ikmi leafless brancfaea ; 
he heard the sweet low note <€ the Robin, who 
familiarly approached him ; and he felt his fingras 
numbed &om the nipfdng frost. Father Cuddy 
found it rather difficult to account for such sudden 
transformations, and to convince himself it was 
not the illusion of a dream, he was about to arise, 
when, lo ! he discovered both bis knees buried at 
least six inches in the solid stone ,- for, notwitk- 
■tanding all these changes, he had nevei altered 
his devout position. 

Cuddy was now wide awake, and felt, when he 
got up, his joints sadly cramped, which !t was 
only natiinl they should bej o 



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CmaOH SA GOO&Y. &S& 

textune oC the stone, and tlie depth his knees hud 
wok into it. But the great difficulty was to esplain 
how, in one mght, Bummer had become winter, 
iwhole woods bad been cut down, and weU-grown 
txoea had sprouted up. The miTacle, nothing else 
oould he conclude it to- be, urged him to hasten 
his letura to Innisfallen, where he might leam 
scnne Qsplanation of these marvellous events. 
' Seeing a boat moored within leach of the shore, 
lie. ddayed not, in the midst of such wondeis, to , 
seek his own bark, but, seizing the oars, puU^ 
stoutly towards the island ; and here new won- 
ders awaited him. 

Father Cuddy waddled, as fast as cramped limbs 
could carry his rotund corporation, to the gate of 
the mcmaatery, where he loudly demanded ad- 
mittance. 

" HoUoa I whence come you, master monk, and 
what's your business ?" demanded a stranger who 
occupied the porter's place. 

" Business 1 — my business !" repeated the con- 
founded Cuddy, — " why, do you not know me ?" 
Has the wine arrived safely ?" 

" Hence, fellow I" said the porter's representa- 
tive, in a surly tone ; " nor think to impose on 
me with your monkish tales." 

'<■ Fellow !" exclaimed the father : " mercy up(m 
asu thnt I diould be so spoken to at the ^ate of my 



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CMIOBB XA BODDV. 



hk -naeo, "do faa. not ne ntf gub— mf lu% 
garb?" 

" A7, tdiow," TqtLtBd he of die k^»— >" ilie 
atrb of if""f«^ Bad filthy debandieiy, wUclt lui 
been expelled &om out iliese mils. KnowToa 
not, idle knan, of the nipprenitra of tUi «est of 
nipentidoB, and that the ftbbejr laods and po»- 
KBsicnu were graotad in August kst to Matter 
Bobeit Oollan, by our I^idy E3iBdMfa, sovefe^ 
queen of England, and pangm of all beaat^^ 
vilioni Oed preaerre !" 

" Queen of England !" aaid Csddy ; " tbiM 
notar was a Mverrign queea of KB|^aad~thiB is 
but a piece with tba reft. I saw haw it was gotog 
With the Stan last night— the wodd'a turned «p> 
^ide down. But auiely this is Innis&llen iatatid, 
and I am the Fatheir Cuddy wfa) ytaiecitj mont- 
ing went over to Ae abbey <£ Ivda^, respecting 
the tun of wine. Do you not kaow me now ?" 

" Know you ! — ^how diould I know you ?" lOid 
the keeper of the abbey. « Yet true it is, that 
I have heard my gnadmother, wboee mother le- 
sundieied Ute mas, (rfW ipeak of the £it l^tber 
Cuddy of Innis&lloi, who made a profane sad 
godless balkd in praise <tf fried eggs, of whicli he 
and his ^e crew knew more than they did (^ tb« 
word of God; and 1A0, being drunk, it Is said 



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OOOOB KA BOmnF.' 9flS' 

tijMfaU wlo Ae Ucon night, ani v«94iMhia} I 
but *t— * imn^ ft» T ^p^"? " t"'"i i iy ^ j t^i mon'tiuHi 
ft liandred jvm aiiiae." 

" Twas I wlio compoaed that song In pnbe of 
BIm^Cit'b fried egp, wHdi it no pTo&ne mnd god- 
lav ballad — no other Father Cuddy than myadf 
em belonged to Inniifallan," earneidr exdeimed 
the holy Htan. "A fanndied jean I — what ma 



" She wat a Mahony of Dunlow— Margaret ni 
JtfahfwiT f Mirl my grandmother—-*' 

"Whatl merry Margery of J>iDilowyMrgreBt> 
gnndmotherrkhouted Cuddy. St Brandon help 
ine! — tlie wicked wench, with that tempting bottlel 
—why, 'twaa oniy laat nights— a hundred yean 1— 
your graat-gTaadmotheT, said you ?— Ood Ueu us I 
tharc has bseu a atnmge torpor over me ; I nwt 
have il^t all this time !" 

That Father Ca&Ay had done so, I tUnk is suf- 
ficiently prored by the changes which occurred 
da3ting his n^. A reformation, and a serioua one 
it was for him, had taken place. E^s fried by 
die ^etty Margery were no longer to be had in 
Innia&Ilan; and, with a heart as heavy as hit 
fiiotstapt, the worthy man directed his course to- 
wards Binj^, where he embarked in a Tcasel on 
the point of sailing for Malaga. IIm rich wiae 



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$(tS CU)UGH NA CUDDY. 

of that place bad of old in^reued bin with a bi^ 
respect fi>r iti monastic cctablisbmeatSj ia one of 
whidi he quietly wore out the remainder of bis 
dajB, 

' The stone impressed with the mark of Father 
Cuddy's bneei may be seen to this day. Should 
any incredulous penons doubt my story, I request 
them to go to Killamej, where dough na Cuddy 
— BO is the stone called — r^nains in Lord Ken- 
mare's parb, an indisputable evidence of the fact. 
SpiUane, the hugle-man, wUI be ahle to point it 
out to tbem, as he did so to me. 



Stories of wonderflil sleepers are common to most 
countries; of persoua who, having fallen into a ^umljer, 
remained so fc^ a long course of years ; and who fbnnd, 
on waldng, every thii^ with which they had been 
familiar altered; all thdr former fHends and cora- 
panions consigned to the U»nb, and a new generadon, 
with new manners and new ideas, arisen in Ibeir places. 
It was thus that Greece fabled of £pimenides, tbe epic 
poet of Crete, who, going in search of one of his sheep, 
entered a cavern to repose daring the mid-day heatj 
and slept there quietly, according to Endamtis, for 
forty-seven years, while Pauuitiias states his nap to 
have extended thirty years more. When he awoke, 
fancying that he had only taken a short doze, he pro- 
eeeded in quest of bis ewe. 



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CLOUGH NA CtTDW. '299 

The legend of the Seren Sleepen ma Current 
thnnighout the Eut, (ince the Aophet has deigned 
to give them a plan in the Koran. Their story, the 
moat famous one of the kind, will be found in the 
JfiNM de VOrient, tfhere it ia related at great length. 

The scene of a siniilar legend is placed by Ptultu 
DiacoQua on the shore of the Baltic, where, in " a darke 
and obscure caveme," five men were found sleeping, 
" their bodies and garments in no part consumed, but 
sound and whole as at first, who b; their habits ap- 
peared to be andent Romans. Certaine of the in- 
habitants had often made attempts to waken them, but 
could not. Upon a time, a wicked fellow purpotdng 
to dispoile and rob one of them of bis garment, be no 
sooner touched it but his hand withered and dried up. 
Olaus Magnus was of opinion that they were confined 
thither Ui some strange pnrpose, that when their trance 
was expired they might either diacorer strange viaiona 
revealed unto them, or else they were to teach and 
preach the christian faith to infidels, who never knew 
the evangelicall doctrine." He^waoSt 'Bierarehie of 
ike Biused AngeUi. 

In German tradition we meet the account of the 
woman who sought a night's lodging f^om the cele- 
brated Heiling, and who, when she awdffi in the 
morning, found herself lying at the foot of a rock, 
where she had slept an hundred years : and also the 
tale of honest Peter Klaus, who slumbered for twenty 
years in the bowling-green of Kyffbduser ; which last 
hMfnmished Mr. Washington Irving with the ground- 



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999 ctoaau ha eupny. 

work of hit inconvxat^ Kp Wi Wiakle ; a beuttiJbl 



AnothCT ilnpT beenil, reUUd in IrelaBd, ciUed 
" tb« Song of tbc UUie Bird," wu gwn m u n ioa K jl tv 
Ibe Amukt, for 1BS7, one of Ik degant litomry toys 
which nuke thdr annnid ai^teuuice. 

MiM Lnbj, in her poem on Killune;, hu pKwrsod 
the story of Ckogh aa Cudilj, both in clever ¥crae 
•ad in ■ proH note. The localities luntioMd mU be 
pcriecdy fkniiliaT t* all who have Tinted that r^ioo 
of encfaantneBt Part of tbt mantatiG miBt on iDnix 
bDen have been ecBvertcd into a banqnetiag^hMM, 
which it the ni^ject of the vignette titb-pege of Hr. 
Weld's aocDnnt of theaelikea; a work watihyof the 
■cenerj it iUnitiatei. 

. Mr. MoMe baa written aoBe ezqioHte tcnes, in the 
Irish Melodiea, on Uadqwrturefiom that iaUnd; end 
a floniiet and two-thirds, ot a teas lentimental oatHn, 
on dining dxre, waa extracted fhtm en artist's sketd>- 
book. Theee lines ma; be quoted in support of the 
IegeQd,aB evidence of the reputed character of the piont 
chroniclers of Innisfslkn ; but as " in timo TeritH," 
their week, if not tbe very beat, is certainly one of the 
beat, Irish hiitorical (coords extant. 

" Hail, nevereBd ftcttwrs ! whose losig-lraried bones 
Still sanctify tlris tod whereon we dne, 
And take, aa we are wont, onr gisas of wine. 

BeheM, we poor, ankl liM« baBow'd atone*. 



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CLOUOH MA cusdt: 30f 

t^MUoB due, iniio ymr tbinty daj i 
Fn* to be dT7 for now lix hondred yntrs. 
Upon mj Boul, good ftthen I ntova my tean. 

And Blmott malceB me rather drink Qua pray, 

To think of what ■ long long thint :rou have ; 
Vou who were wet and merry muIb, I wot. 
And most eccleriasticalty toob your poL 

TiS {dty, faith it is, yon 're in the grave : 
'Bat aiiwe it is imr cetmnon ftte, ^aa ! 

. 'Ga6d \iy, good friaie I— Conw, Tmi, M your glan. 

QuMh Tbomai, gravely, ' I do muah revne 
The day wberdn snch raveroid boaas do lie ; 
Yet Uioa 10 toast Ibem, I would not oomply. 

But that tbdr revffences are where they are ; 

For were they face to face, God blesa my lonl ! 
And we had twice as many juga and bottlea. 
And they set to, with all their thfrety throttka, 

A pretty hearing we 'd have of our bowl.'-" 



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BARRV OP CAIRN THIERNA. 

FaBsi07, tbou^ now so pretly and so clem a 
town, was once as pocv and as dirty a village as 
any in Ireland. It hod ndther great barracks, 
grand chinch, nor buzzing schools. Two-storied 
houses were but few : its street — for it had but 
one— was chiefly formed of miserable mud cabins ; 
nor was the fine scenery around sufficient to in- 
duce the traveller to tarry in its paltry imi beyond 
the limits actually required. 

In those days it happened that a regiment of foot 
was proceeding from Dublin to Cork. One com- 
pany, whii^ left Caher in the morning, had, with 
" toilsome march," passed through Mitchelstown, 
trsraped acroet the Kilworth mountBins, and, late 
of an October evening, tired and hungry, reached 
Permoy, the last stage but one of their quarl«n- 
No barracks were then built there to receive them ; 
and every voice was raised, calling to the gBpiog 
villagers for the name and residence of the billet- 
master. 

" Why, then, can't you be easy now, and let » 



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BARRY OF CAIBK THIEBMA. 303 

body tell you," said one. " Snre, then, how can 
Iaii8wer70uaUatoiioe?"saidaiiot}ier. "Anan!" 
(xied a tlurd, affecting not to understand the Ser- 
jeant who addressed him. " Is it Mr. Consodine 
you want ?" replied a fourth, answering one ques- 
tion by asking another. " Bod luck to the whde 
breed of MOgertl" muttered & fifth Tilkgeiv— " it 'i 
come to eat poor people that work for their bread 
out of house and home you are." " Whisht, 
Teigue, can't you now ?" said his neighbour, jog- 
ging the last speaker ; " there 's the house, gentle- 
men — you see it there yonder fwenent you, at the 
bottom of the street, with the light in the win- 
dow; oTBtay, myself would think little of running 
down with you, poor creatures ! for 'tis tired and 
weary you must he after the road." " That 's an 
' honest fellow," said several of the dust-covered 
soldiers ; and away scampered Ned Flynn, with 
all the men of war following close at his heels. 

Mr. Gonsadioe, the billet-master was, as may 
be supposed, a penon of some, and on such occa- 
sions as the present, of great consideration in Fer- 
moy> He was of a portly build, and of a grave 
and slow movement, suited at once to his import- 
ance and his size. Three inches of fair linen were 
at all times visible between his waistband and 
waistcoat. His breeches-pockets were never bol^ 
toned ; and, scorning to conceal the bull-like pro* 



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8M BARBT or CAtEN THIBBNA. 

partiooi of hli cheit and neck, bis ooUaK WM geM> 
nllj Ofea, u he wore no cnTot. A flsxes Ub- 
wig commonlf ut fairly oa hi> bead and aquBMlj 
CO hia foreliead. and an ex-tfffiao yet wu Btudk 
bdtind hia ear. &ich was Mr. CctMadme : HlleU 
muter-general, bartmy sub-conatsble, and depn^'' 
clerk of the sesiiom, who was now just getting 
near the end of hU eif^th tumUer in companr 
with the proctor, who at diat momait had bc^m 
to talk of coming to lamething like a ftir aettla- 
ttteat about bii tithes, wlien Ned Flynn kaoded. 

" 6ee who 'sat the door, NeDy," Hid theeldM 
Mix Consadlne, ndiiiig her voice, and j^lHff i; to 
dke barefooted lervant girl. 

, " 'Tis the togert, air, ii cornel" cried Nalfy, 
running back into the room without opening dte 
door; " I bear the Jinteting of their awoids and 
bagnett on the paving stones." 

" Never welcome them at this boar Ot the 
ni^t," said Mr. Consadine, ^■''^"■g op the '•»*^^, 
and moving off to the room on the oppoAta lidi 
of the ball which served him for an office. 

Mr. Conndine's own pen and that of hia mm 
Tom were now in fiill employmait. The offinn 
were sent to die inn ; the Serjeants, corporals, Ac- 
were tulleted on thoae who were on indifiennt 
tenni with Mr. Consadine ; for, like a worth]' 
man, he leaned as light as he could on bit frtmilf 

t 

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bA&rv orCAnm-vKtBRRA. 305 

■■•"Sbh Roldien had neailf tH departed fin: th^ 
-quoiten, wben one poOT Mlow, who had taOea 
aileep, leaning on his musket against the wall, ym 
'Wakened \iy the silence, and, stiirting up, he went 
AWi tu the tabte at whiph &^r. Ccn^dioe was 
treated, hoping his wonhip would give him a gooH 
billet. 

" A gcx>d billet, my lad," said the billet-mastei- 
genenil, barony' sub-constafale, and deputy-deriL 
t^the WKiona — " that you shall have, and onthe 
4>jggeBt house in the place. Do you hear, Tom ! 
nake out a InllDt for this man upon Mr. Sarry of 
Cairn 'niienia." 

" On Mr. Bairy of Cairn Tbiema !" said Tom 
with surprise. 

" Yes ; on Mr. Barry of Cairo Thiema — the 
great Barry I" replied his father giving a nod, and 
closing his right eye slowly, with a semi-drunken 
wink. " la not he said to keep the grandest house 
ki this part of the country P— or stay, Tom, just 
hand me over the paper, and 1 11 write the billet 
myaelf." 

The lullet was made out acxordingly ; the sand 
jittered on the signature and broad flourishes of 
iit. Consadine, and the weary grenadier received 
it with becoming gratitude and thanks. Taking 
1^ his knapaauk and firelock he left the office, and 
Mk Consadine waddled back to the proctor to 



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306 BARBT OF CAIKN THIERNA. 

chucUe over the trick that he pUfed the soldier, 
and to laugh at the idea of his seardi after Bairj 
of Cairn Thiema's house. 

Truly had he sud no house could vie in capacity 
with Mr. Barry's ; for, like Allan-a-Dale's, Ha roof 
was 

" The blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so 
pal!." 

Bany of Caijn Thiema was one of the chieftains 
who, of old, lorded it over the barony td Barry- 
more, and for some reastm or other he had become 
enchanted on the mountain of Cairn Thiema, 
where he was known to live in great state, and 
was often seen by the belated peasant, 

Mr. Consadine had informed the soldier that 
Mr. Barry lived a little way out of the town, on 
. the Cork road ; so the poor fellow trudged along 
for some time, with eyes n|^t and eyes left, look- 
jag for the great house ; but nothing could he see, 
only the dark mounCaia of Cairn Tfairana heSort 
him, and an odd cabin or two on the road side. 
At last he met a man, of whom he asked the way 
to Mr. Barry's. 

" To Mr, Barry's I" said the man ; " what 
Barry is it you want ?" 

" I can't say exactly in the dark," returned the 
soldier. " Mr. What 's-his-name, the billet mas. 



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BARRY OF CAIRN THIERNA. 307 

lex, has given me the directioa on m j billet ; but 
be said it was a large house, and I think he called 
him the great Mr. Barry." 

" Why, sure, it wouldn't be the great Barry of 
Coim Thiema you are asking about ?" 

" Ay," said the soldier, " Cairn Thiema — that's 
the vety place : can you tell me where it is ?" 

" Cairn Thiema," repeated the man ; " Barry 
of Cairn Thiema — 1 11 show you the way and 
welcone ; but it 'a the first time in all my bom 
days that ever I heard of a soldier being billeted 
on Bany of Cairn Thiema. 'Tis surely a queec 
>tlung for old Dick Consadine to be after sending 
you there," continued he; " but you see that big 
mountain before you — that's Cairn Thierna. Any 
one will show you Mr. Barry's when you get to 
the top of it, up U) the big heap of stones." 

The weary soldier gave a sigh as he walked 
finward towards the mountain; but he had not 
inoceeded far when he heard the clatter of a 
horse coming along the road after him, and tum- 
.jng his head round, he saw a dark figure rapidly 
iqiproachinghim. A tall gentleman, richly dressed, 
and mounted on a noble gray horse, was soon at 
his side, when the rider pulled up, and the soldi^ 
repeated his inquiry after Mr. Barry's of Caira 
Thiema. 

x2 



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S08 BABBY OF CAIRN THIERNA. 

" I 'm Ban? of Caim Thiema," said the geit- 
tltittuui ; " what is your burinesa with mc, fMoni ?" 

" I Ve got a billet on your house, mr," replied 
the MtlcUer, from the billet'iBast^ of Fennoy ." 

" Have jou, indeed i" said Mr. Barry ; " wel^ 
then, it IB not very fax off; follow me, and yoo shall 
be wdl taken care of." 

He turned off the road, end led his horse up the 
steep side of the numntain, followed by the sot- 
^«r, who was astonidied at seeiag the hone pro- 
ceed with to little difficulty, where he wn oUigod 
to serantble up, and could hardly find or Iceep his 
footing. When they got to the top there tnu a 
house sure enough, lar beyond any house ia FW- 
moy. It was three stories hl^, with fine win- 
dows, and all lighted up within, as if tt ma fliU 
of grand company. There was a hall door, toe, 
with a flight of stone steps before it, at which 
Mr. Barry dismounted, and the door was opened 
to him by a serrant man, who took his botse 
round to the stable. 

Mr. Bany, as he stood at the door, desired the 
sc^er to walk in, and instead of Binding him 
down to the kitchen, as any other gentleman 
would have done, brought him into the parlour, 
and desired to see his billet. 

"Ay," said Mr. Barry, looking at it and smiling, 



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BABRY OF CAIBN THIERKA, 809 

<' I know Dick Conudiiie well — he 'b a men^ &1- 
Iwr, aiul lias got awae excellent cows on the inch 
idd o€ Caxxiokaihnek ; Anrioin<tfgood beef isiio 
bad thing fear supper. 

■ Mr. Bany then called out to some -of hia at- 
tendants, and desired them to laj the cloth, and 
fnake all ready, which was no aoaaer done thaa a 
vnok^ng aiiloin of beef was placed before them. 

" Sit down, now, my honest fellow," said Mr. 
Barry, " you mvfit be hungry aftei your- long 
day's siarch." 

The ioldier, with a profuaon of thonka fiir such 
baqnUJity, and ackoowledgments for such con- 
descension, sat down, and made, as might be ex- 
pected, an excellent supper ; Mr. Barry never 
IcMing hia jaws rest ibr want of helping until 
be waa &irly done. Then the boiling watOT waa 
brought in, and sudi a jug of whiskey punch waa 
made, there was no faulting it. 

.Tbey sat together a Itmg time, tnlUng a»ta the 
punch, and the fire was so good, and Mr. -Bany 
liimaelf was so good a gentleman, and had .such 
fine converse about every thing in the world, &r 
oc near, that the soldier never felt the ni^t gping 
over him. At last Mr. Barry stood up, saying, 
it was a rule with him that every one in his 
boiue should be in bed by twdve o'clock, " and," 
■ud he, pointing to a bundle which lay in one 
ooTBersiCQiB nmn, "take.l^at to bed with you, 

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SIO BARRV OF CAIRH THIEBKA. 

it 's the hide of the oaw which I hod killed tiff 
your supper; give it to the billet-master when 
you go hock to Fermoy in the morning, and t^ 
him Uiftt Bany of Cairn Thienut sent it to him. 
He will soon understand what it means, I pn>- 
mise you ; so good night, my brave fdlow ; I wish 
jrou a comfortable sleep, and every good fortune ; 
but I must be off and away out of this long before 
you are stirring." 

The soldier gratefully returned his host's good 
night and good wishes, and went off to the rocon 
which was shown him, without claiming, as every 
one knows he bad a right to do, the second-best 
bed in the house. 

Next morning the sun awoke him. He was 
lying on the broad of his back, and the sky-lark 
WBS Hinging over him in the beautiful Uue sky, 
and the bee was humming close to his ear among 
the heath. He nihhed his eyes ; nothing did he 
■ee but the clear sky, with two or three light 
morning clouds floating away. Mr. Barry's fine 
house and sof^ feather bed had melted into tiir, 
and he found himself stretched on the side of 
Cairn Thiema, buried in the heath, with the 
cow-hide which had been given him rolled Tip 
under his head for a pillow. 

" Well," said he, " tliis beats cock-lighting ! 
—Didn't I spend the pleasatttest night I ever 
■pent in mj life with Sir. Bairy last ni^tf— 

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BABRY OF CAIRN TBIEBNA. 311 

And what in the world has become of the house, 
and the hall door with the stepe, and the vety bed 
that was under me P" 

He stood up. Not a vestige of a house or any 
tiling like one, but the rude heap of stones on the 
top of the mounttun, could he see, and ever so &r 
off lay the Blackwater glittering with the morn- 
ing Bun, and the little quiet village of Permoy oq 
its banks, &om whose chimneys white wreaths of 
- smoke were beginning to rise upwards into the 
sky. 

Throwing the cow-hide over his shoulder, he 
descended, not without some difficulty, the steep 
side of the mountain, up which Mr. Barry had 
led his horse the preceding night with so much 
ease, and he proceeded along the road, pondering 
on what had befallen him. 

When he reached Fermoy, he went straight to 
Mr. Consadine's, and asked to see Kim. 

" Well, my gay fellow," said the official Mr. 
Consadine, recognising, at a glance, the soldier, 
" what sort of an entertainment did you meet 
with &am Barry of Caim Thiema f" 

" The best of treatment, sir," replied the sol- 
dier; " and well did he speak of you, and he de- 
sired me to give you this cow-hide as a token 
to remember him." ' 

" Many thanks to Mr. Barry for his generosity," 



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312 BASBY OF CAIBM TBIERMA. 

«ud the biUeUmuter, maUng b bow in mock 
■olemnity ; " many th&nh, indeed, and a rigbt 
good akin it u, wLerever he got it." 

Mr. ConAadine had M^itcely fini^ied the sen- 
tence when he saw hh itiw-b<ff running up the 
street, shouting and cryfilg dbild that die best 
cow in the inch field was lost and gone, and no- 
body knew what had betome of her, or could give 
die least tidings of her. 

The soldier liftd flii&g the i&in on the grotind, 
and the cow-boy looking at it, exclaimed — 

" That is her' hide, whwevet she is !— I *d take 
my Uble oath t& the'tWo smttll white spots, widi 
the ^ossy blacV about them, snd there's the very 
[dace where she tubbed the hair off her sbodlder 
last Maitinmas-" Then dapping his hands to- 
gether, he literally sung, to " the' tune the old 
eow died of," 

jfgus oro Drimen duve ; oro bo 
Oto Drimtn duvB t mhiel agrah f 
Agvi oro DTtnten duve — O—Ochone ! 
Drimea duve dttelUk — go den In tlane beugh *. 

* This, irhidi ii wiitten u it fa ptouounced, may be 
tiMiiIated— 

And oh, my bbck oow'-^-iih taj cow. 
Oil my bhek cow, ■ tboaund ttmei dcM to mc; 
And oh mjt bUdc cow-->la>, alas, 
- Uy darling black catr, why did yon leave mc 



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BASST OF fAIR» TfilEBNA. 3l3 

This lamentatioti was stopped short by Mr. Con- 
saifine. 

" There is no manner of doubt of it," said be. 
" It was Barry who killed my best cow, and all 
be has left me is the hide of the poor beast to 
comfort myself with ; but it will be a warning to 
Dick Gonsadine for the rest of his life never ag^n 
to play off his tricks upon tiavdlers." 



An nnoaymons correspondent before alluded to, ha* 
supplied the compiler with the outline of the forgoing 
tale. Another version, in which a fair dame named 
Una (Anglice, Winny, who proves to be the queen of 
the fairies) b substituted for Mr. Barry, was related 
to him some years since, under the title of " the Lady 
c^ the Rock." The circumstances of the billet, the 
(upper, the bide, and the billet master's loss of hfs 
best cow, are precisely similar in both. The scene of 
the story was Blarney, and the soldier said to be one 
of Cromwell's troopers. 

According to tradition, the great Barry has hia 
magic dwelling on the summit of Caini Thierna, the 
It^nd of which mountain will be tbund in the present 
section. He appears to belong to the same class of 
beings as Gileroon Doonoch, or Gileroon of the old 
Head of Kinsale ; Farninneth O'Kilbritaune, or the 
Green Man of Kilbriltan; Garold'Earlocb, or Eirly 
Garrett (rfKiUamey,&c. respecting whom stories very 



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314 BABBT OF CAIBM THIEKNA. 

umikr to the ibrtgoing and BubKqnent are related. 
These Buperhuman mortals also commonly appear b^ 
f<ve an; remarkable event, like the German Emperor 
Charles V., who, with his army, acoording to tra- 
dition, inhabit the Odenberg, in Hesse, and when 
war is on the ere of breaking out, the roountain opens, 
the Emperor issues forth, sounds his bugle, and with 
his host passes over to another mountain. Rodenstein, 
who in a similar manner announces war, was seen so 
recently as ISIS, prenoUa to the landing of Napoleon, 
to pass with hia followers from Schnelbeit to his 
former strong hold of Rodenstein. 

An account of the rise of the town of Fermoy to its 
present state frtnn the poor village described, may be 
ibund in the second volnme of Brewer's Beauties of 
Ireland; a work which will materially asuat those io- 
clined to acquire a correct knowledge of that country. 
Mr. Brewer's character is already well known and 
highly esteemed, as an accurate observer, a pleasii^ 
writer, and a earefiil and industrions compiler : and 
jndgii^ from the volumes which have appeared, the 
" Beauties of Ireland" are wwthy of that gentleman's 



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THE GIANTS STAIRS. 

On tlie nwtd between Passage and Cork there 
ii an old m&nBion catled RtmaTue's Court. It may 
be eaailj Inown firom the stack of chimneyB and 
the gable ends, which are to be seen look at it 
which way 70U will. Here it was that Maurioe 
Ronayne and his wife Margaret Gould kept house, 
u may be learned to this day from the great old 
diimney-piece, on which is carved their arau. 
They were a mighty worthy couple, and had hut 
one son, who was called Philip, after no less a 
p^-son than the King of Spain. 

Immediately on his sntelljog the cold air of this 
world the child sneezed, which was naturally taken 
to be a good sign of his having a dear bead ; and 
the subsequent rapidity of his learning was truly 
amazing, for on the very first day a primer was 
pat !nto his hand, be tore out the A, B, C, page, 
and destroyed it, as a thing quite beneath his notice. , 
No wiHider then that both father and mother were 
proud of their heir, who gave such indiqnitahle 
procrfs of genius, or, as they call it in that part <^ 
the world, "genw*." 



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816 THE GIAHt's STAIE8. 

One momiag, however, Maiter Phil, who waa 
then Just Beven yean old, was misiing, and no one 
could tell what had become of him : servEtnts were 
■ent in all directions to seek him, on hoiseback 
and on foot, but they letttrned without any tidings 
of the hoy, whose disappearance altogether was 
HUMt unacoonnlable. .A large Kward was ofieied, 
hut it produced them no inteUigence, and years 
tolled away without Mr. and Mrs. Ronayne having 
cJnained any tatisfoctory account of the fitte of 
their lost child. 

There lived, at this time, near Canigaline, one 
Robert Kelly, a blacksmith by trade. He was 
what is termed a handy man, and his aUlities 
were held in luioh estimation by the lads-ond the 
lasKfl of the neighbourhood ; for, iadBpendent of 
■hoeing hones, which he did to great perfection, 
aad naUng plough irons, he interpreted dreams 
for the young woman, sung Arthur CVBtadley ol 
their-waddiaga,'a]id was so good natured a fdJow 
«t a christening, that he was gossip to lulf tlie 
country round. 

Now it happened that Holan had* ixeam-.bm- 
mis, and young Plulip-Ronayne appeared :4o.hbn 
initat Uie deadhour of the night RoUd ^oiigbt 
he saw the boy mounted upon a heautifid white 
bone, and that he told him how he was made a 
page to the giant Mahon Mac Mshon, who had 



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THB OIA^t's stairs. Stt 

eanicd him aS, and who held his conrt in the 
hflod heart of the rock. " The tereii jeaiB — my 
tune- of serriee — are clean out, Robin," raid he, 
" aaid if you rekaie me this ni^it, I will be the 
""Ung of you for ever after." 

" And how will I know," said Robin — cunimig 
enou^, even in bis sleep — " but this is all a 
dreas) }" 

" Take that," said the bc^, " for a tt&en" — •■ 
and at the word the white horse struck out widi 
one of his hind legs, and gave poor Robin such a 
ki4^ in the forehead} that thinking he was adead 
man, he roared as loud as he could after his brainy 
and woke up calling a thousand murders. He 
fousd himBelf in bed, but he bad the mark of the 
blow, the regular print of a boise-Bfaoe upon his 
forehead as red as blood ; and Robin Kelly, who 
never before found himself puzzled at the dream 
of any other person, did not know what to think 
ot his own. 

Robin was well acquainted with the Oianfi 
Stairs, as, indeed, who is not that knows the har- 
bour? They consistofgreatmussesof rock, which, 
piled one above another, rise like a flight of st^s, 
fann very deep water, ^lainst the bcdd cliff of 
CuTigmahon. Nor are they badly suited &a stain 
to those who have legs of sufficient lei^th to stride 
over a moderate sized home, (v to enable them to 



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818 THE SIAKT^B STAISS. 

tHaa the space of a mile in a h<^, step, and jnmp. 
Both these leata the giant Mac Mobon was said 
to have performed ia the dajv of Finnian glorj; 
and the common tradition of the country placed 
his dwelling within the cliff up whose mde die 
■twrs led. 

Such was the impression which the dieam made 
an Robin, that he determined to put its truth to 
the test. It occurred to him, however, before 
setting out on this adventure, that a plough inm 
may be no bod companion, as, Irom experience, he 
knew it was an excellent knoch<down argument, 
having, on more occasions than one, settled a littld 
disagreement very quietly : so, putting one on hit 
shoulder, offhe marched, in the cool of the evening, 
through Glaun a Thowk (the Hawk's Qlen) to 
Monkstown. Here an old gossip of hb (Tom 
Clancey by name) lived, wbo, on hearing RoUn'i 
dream, promised him the use of his skiff, and 
moreover offered to asdst in rowing it to the 
Giant's Stairs. 

After a supper which was ctf the best, they em- 
harked. It was a beautiful still night, and iht 
little boat glided swiftly along. The regular dip 
of the oars, the distant gong of the sailor, and 
sometimes the voice of a belated traveller at the 
ferry of Carrigatoe, alone broke the quietness of 
the land and sea and sky. The tide was in tbeir 



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THK OIANT*a BTAIIB. 81S 

fiiTcmr, and in a few minutes Robin and his gomp 
rested on their oara under tbe dark Bhadow of the 
Giant'B Stairs. Robin looked anxiously for tlie 
entrance to tlie Giant's palace, which, it was said, 
may be found by an; one seeking it at midnight ; 
hut no such entrance could he see. His impatience 
had hurried him there before that time, and after 
waiting a considerable space in a state of suspense 
not to be described, Robin, with pure vexation, 
could not help exclaiming to bis companion, " 'Tig 
a pair of fools we are, Tom Clancey, for coming 
here at all on the strength of a dream." 

" And whose doing is it," said Tom, " but your 
own?" 

At the moment he spoke they perceived a faint 
^mmering of light to proceed from the diff, which 
gradually increased until a porch big enough for a 
king's palace unfolded itself almost on a level with 
the water. They pulled the skiff directly towardi 
the fining, and Robin Kelly seizing his plough 
iron, boldly entered with a strong band and a 
■tout heart. Wild and strange was that entrance ; 
the whole of which appeared formed of grim and 
grotesque faces, blending so strangely each with 
the other that it was impossible to define any : the 
chin of one formed the nose of another; what up- 
peared to be a fixed and stem eye, if dwelt upon, 
changed to a gaping mouth ; and the lines of the 



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em tbel «sA^iir« »A»». 

baord. The taon Bolsa aUpsKd 'hiiii«qi£to,«n»- 
ttmplAte the fuvu aiwiivd huq, the nuve tscsidc 
tliay becaaie ; and the sXoaj cxpnoHpe n£ (^g 
ecawd af faee^ Ewntsied & us»se fewc^. ai.^ 
inuginatios oonvetted feature v&tf fctitiUQ mKua 
difiannt sbape and chaiacter. Ixwig' the tnt 
light in which thew indefiaite fiirou were vl4Ua, 
b« advancsd through a daik and deriouB ^mtfygftj 
whilst a deep and nunhUng noise soasded aa if 
the lock waa about to close up<ai him and swallow 
him up- alive for ever. Now, indeed, poor Btdm 
felt a&aid. 

" Robin, Rohin," said he, " if you wiere a find 
for coming here, what in the name of fortune 
are jou now?" But, as fadbre, he had scan^ 
■poken, when he saw a small light, twmklii^ 
throo^ thedarkneia of the distanec, like a star in 
the midnight sk^. To retreat wa3 out of the 
queaticn; for bo many tunungi and wioduip 
were in the passage, that he conddared he had bitt 
little chance of making his way back. He ^eie- 
fore proceeded towards the hit of ligbt, and cam^ 
at last into a spacious chamber, from the roof cf 
which hung the solitary hmp that had guided 
him. Emerging from such profound glocsn, tkb 
single lamp afforded Robin abundant light to dift* 
M«r several gigantic figures seated round a taias- 

t 



Tas giakt's stairs. 921 

I&VK stcme table at if in serioui delibention, but tu> 
word disturbed the breathlest tilence wbidt pie> 
vaOed. At tbe head of this table sat Mahon Mac 
Sfahon himself, whose majestic beard had taken 
root, and in the course of ages ^«wii into tW 
stone slaK He was the fiist who perceived Ro* 
Ua; and instantly starting up, drew his long 
beard Iroia out tbe huge pioce of rock ia such 
haste and with so sudden a j«rk that it was shat- 
tered into a thousand pieces. 

" What seek you ?" he demanded in a voice (rf 
thunder. 

" I come," answered RohiR, with as much bold- 
ness as he could put on; for his heart was almost 
iainting within him — " I come," said he, " to 
claim Philip Rpnayne, whose time of service is 
out this night" 

" And who sent you here ?" said the giant. 

" 'Tnas of my own accord I came," said Botnn. 

" Then you must single hii" out from among 
my pages,'' said the giant ; " and if you lix on the 
wrong one, your life is the forfeit. Follow me." 
He led Robin into a hall of vast extent, and filled 
with lights ; al<Hig ^ther side of which were rows 
of beautiful children all apparently seven years 
old, and none beyond that age, dressed in green, 
ond every one exactly dressed alike. 

" Hera," said jyiaboa, " you are free to take 



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ass: TUB 'GIAHVb SSA^Wi 

F^U^ RofaMriu, ' if 70U < »ffl j > btav mdKatl|fry ^ 

ginbat oaeiclwtca." ■■ '' i...:-.>"r ^-n., 

iRoUn 'WB id^ peiplated{ for ifar^i^rinn 

BO'Tcrydear MooUection of iko bbf ba-iunj^rt* 
But he walked along the balli'by dM iidti ofilHw- 
hon, M tf nothing wm dw inat«N, fcl^on^h his 
great iron drew danked icarfiilly at vretyaptf, 
sooBding loadar tlian Bolan't own dedge faattBBg 
on his anviL - ' ' '' 

They had nearly raaehed tiie end wfihont 
QXiaking, when Baton Keing t^at tiie only meni 
he had was to make irienda with the giuftydetEk-- 
mined to try what effect a few soft words m^^ 
have. ■ ■ ' '■■i 

■ "Tit a fine wheJeaome appcuanoe'tW^lfabr 
diUdren carry," remaned RoUn, " dthoiglriA^^ 
have heen here so long shut out from thsfimdijAr 
and the idessed light ofheavoi. "Hbtenit^pmT 
kenoUT DiTiBt hare raared tlrem !" - ■; ■■!! 

■* Ay," laid die giant,'" Uiat ia traa^iftr'ya^,* 
BO ^Te me your hand ; for you are, I MitfTCiTift 
Hry hoBcat fellow for a Uadbnitfa*" ' I'j 

Robin at the first ^k did im mnoh Ittebdfe 
fangs sin of tbe hand, and tWeftm' pmbntofti^ 
* |)fougli>tron, which ite gisnt wlzing, twtrteddn 
Mb grasp round and round again «s if it hod^hate 
a:'pocnoe'itslk; on aeeiiig Oob all t&e-iahadien 



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x^ASU.Wi'wACAnin ftSS 

•etupisdioiLtaflBng^ten latbs mJdbt ofilieti! 
nurdi Robin thought he heard hii name o^ledj 
MoA'^'iear and efe,'he put his hand on ihe bay 
idibm'hs fended had kpoken, toTing out al iba 
MlillWi liiiiii, '*Iiet me Hra ocdlfi &a it, but this ia 
ytiinil'Phil Rtnuiyue>" 

^..."I'lt .ik Phi^ RcmajiiB->Ji^{rr FUl^ 2tor 
Mgraei" nid Ins young eompanioiu; and in an 
■ataot.'flut hail became daik* Cmfains iinioca 
were heard, and all was in itiauge onufauon; 
iaibiRatmi bdd fatt ht> priie, and found himself 
IgrcQ^ iatbe gtBT- dawn of the morning at the head 
«£>rdKv6tanf i Stairs with the boy olaaped in hit 

Robin had plenty of gossips to spread the story 
itfliisiveiidetfal adnnture— Passage, Monkstown, 
CsErigaline^—the whide barony of Kerricunihy 
dtuiig with it. > 

1 . ^ Are you quite sure, Robin, it is young Phil 
Ronayne you have brou^t back with you?" was 
^regulai quesdos; for although the boy had 
heeat toteh years away, his appearuice now was 
just the mme as ea the day he wac missed. He 
Ibd neither grown t^let nor older in look, and he 
-^iriu of things which bad happened before be was 
.caMedvcff m one awakened -Irom sleep, or m^ if 
itfadythad occurred yeslerdi^. 
; -if'iAm I sure? WeU, that's a queer qnest^o," 



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9^ vat c!iAV¥V irtj^fiK 

Vai lUAfe'B reply ; "■eeingdie'bbJ'lJirtteTftb 
eyes of tLe mothe/, wi^ tlie fbxj Ihair'ttf'llie^ 
tha ; to aaj notbing of tbe pvrljf wart on ^e t^k 
side of his little nose." 

However RobJnKelljm^ Have been questioned 
tbe worthy couple of Ronayne's court doul^ed vat 
4tuX he wu tbe delivKCr of theii cbild fiwn tl^ 
power of Ae giant Mbo Mahcm ; and tbe rawat^ 
Aty bestowed on bim equalled tWr gnittiidph ' 
' Hiilip Ronayne lired to be an idd man ;<sad 
he wal remarkal^ to the day of bis deadi^^ Ut 
tJnll in wotUng brass and iron, which It was'fi»- 
lieved be bad learned during bis seven yeais^ ap- 
prendceship to the giant Mahon Mac Mafaon. 



This legend, in Bome particulars, resembles those 
told in Wales of Owen Lawgoch, or Owen of the 
bloody hand : in Denmark, of Holger the Dane : in 
Germany, of Frederic Barbarosa, or red beard, &c. 
Tbe writer of a valuable paper in the Quarterly Re- 
view has thus condensed tbe story, which may be 
fotind in Mr. Thiele'g Danske Folkesagn, Sec. ' 

" The emperor (Frederic) is secluded in th^ caade 
of Kyffhaiisen, in the Hercyiiian forest, where he re- 
niuns in a state not much nnlike the descriptioiiwinili 
Cervanles has given of tbe inhabitants of the taveti 
of Montesinoa : he slumbers on bis throne— his led 



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^fflfd hMgtc^ iliRttigb ibf itone Ui}\e.jm vl^ b^ 
.Uflit win reeliaeii.ot, m wne hjj it hag grown round 
and rouqd it. A Tuiation of the same fable, coloured 
according to its localit]', is found in Denmark; 'where 
it ia eaid, that Holger Dangkc, whom the French ro- 
mances call Ogier the Dane, Klumbere in the vaults 
^Ktieath Cronenbuigh caatle. A villain was once 
"ABured hj splendid o^ra to descend into the cavern 
MtA'iiutthehdf-tttpidhen). f^ier nninered to the 
viritot, nquestang; him to atreteh out ilia hand. Tbe 
iniUinpMsaited an iron crow to Ogier, who gnuped 
jt^injepliag the metal with hiafingera. 'It ia well]' 
_<^di OfftT, who imagined he was squeezing the hand 
of the stranger, end thus provoking hie strength and 
fortitude: ' there are yet men in Denmark.'" 

Billy Qninn, the poet of Passage, has sung Uw 
cbamis of the scenery of this legend in sodh popular 
numbeta, that it is presumed the reader will not be 
displeased at finding a verae here. After praidng 
the noble river Lee, he lella ua that at Passage 

" A ferry-boat's there, quite convenient 
For man and horae to take a ride ; 
Who, both in clover, tnay go over 
To Carrigftloe at the other side. 
'Tia there is seen — oh ! the sweet Marino 
^ With trees BO green oh, and fruit so red — 
. Brave White-point, end right forenent it 
The Giant's Staira, and old Horse'i head." 



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326 THE GIANTS GTAIRfl. 

Hie witty Hr. Heniy Beonett, in his iJetMUt 
local poem rfthe Steun Boat, U pleMed to call the 
OUnt'a Stain , 



It tnt; be M ) bnt gainst such tntlMrltr &te com'' 
pllcr El enabled to anpport the trath of tbia Icgnd, 
at leatt, by drenmatantial evidence. A wimderiul 
p«ir of cnbeahcre been athibited to hUnmipMof ol 
Hr. Bonajne'i mpematural handicraft. Dr. South; 
in hit History of Code, rol. i. p. 172, alto lays.ttM 
" be (Mr. Philip Roiuyne) invented s cube whicfa ji 
perforated in auch a manner that a second cube oflh^ 
tamt diiKemiont eraetU/ i» aU respecU may be passed 
throng the same." 



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Andnoiv,fareweU! ike Jaiiy dream it o'er: 
The tales my infancy Had loved to hear, 
Like blissful visions, fade and disappear. 
Suck tales Momonia's peasant tells no morel 
Vanisk'i are MSRUAZDsfrom ker sea-beat tkore; 
Cheekd is the BBADLBaa BORaEiiAN's strangt, 

career: 
Tit barkig'b voice no longer mocks Ike ear, 
itor ROCK'S bear wotiitrwis imprintr at if yore '! 
Such it " Ike marck of mind," — Bui did the Jays 
{Creatures ofnkim — tke gotsamers qfrniUJ 
In Ireland nork suck sorrow and suck ill 
As stormier spirits of our modem days 9 
Ok land beloved! aa a»gry voice I raite; 
My conttant prayer — " nay peace be mitk thee 

em." 




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ERRATA. 

P^ 101, line 33, tor Fotktagrt, nad PiMetagu. 

108, 22, /br genooD, read gOMoaii. 

Ill, 2i,Jbr Onai, read Qntn. 

129, 18, for AwmBMW, nad Acrfnowu. 

137, 12,;Vdvea,r<a<fdoea. 

160, 9, for ought, rrad out. 

175, S.Jbr Beetham, r<ad Bethun. 

217, 18, for Keinetacgt, Tcad Keinatetgti. 

333, G,>i>r S^pn, rud Sugen. 



WHlTErUIAftS. 



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I 



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